Pretend You Don't See Him
by Angel Eevee
Summary: [TP, AU, COMPLETE] Like his father, Prince Trunks had never seen the value of love. But when his bride-to-be casts a spell on him, he is forced to see it, and find the only person that can see it back in him.
1. Cursed Prince

**Disclaimer:  Any character you recognize most likely doesn't belong to me.  Neither does the title per say.  I swiped and fiddled with it from a MaryHigginsClark book… I think.  **

**A/N:  *yawns*  I finally finished my sequel to DearDiary, and can start on something brand new.  This would be that.  (that sounds weird).  Yes'ms anyway, I think this is different than my usual style and plot lines, but I wanted to play around with an alternate universe.   Here we go.**

**Chapter One:  Cursed Prince**

                "But he doesn't love her,"  she whispered quietly.  It was always quiet.  True to what was rumored, the King and Queen could hold an intelligent argument longer than anyone, and in most cases it resulted in an empty gap in the bed, as the Queen stubbornly slept as far away from her husband as possible.  But in the arguments that really mattered; the ones that she truly believed in, they always ended in whisper.  It was what tore the King's confidence and self-assurance apart.  

            Even now her head was bent downward, her arms dangling almost lifelessly by her side in utter defeat.  It was hard for her to argue politics with him.  He just knew too much, and it was even worse since they were both as stubborn as oxen.  Her sudden switch from flaming arms and screeching words to barely whispers were of use to the King, because it gave him a strong indication on the seriousness of the subject, and the Queen seemed quite steadfast on this one.  

            The King and Queen were quite a pair.  King Vegeta was well known for his steadfast rule, and his demeaning appearance.  Although rather short in stature, his black cold eyes and matching flaming hair made up for it.  A constant scowl was always pressed on his sharp features, his arms always crossed,  giving him a cold stare that no one in their right mind would want to mess with.  In fact, no one ever had tried to mess with it until his wife; Bulma.  The Queen was quite renowned for her looks, with the classic fairy tale beauty sparked up with some pizzazz.  She had a naturally slim body and was well off in areas that spark any man's interest, but Bulma was unique and more head strong than all of the other candidates that had been lined up for the thrown.  Her large cerulean eyes and shiny aqua hair only added to her beauty, but she had other qualities other than her appearance.  One had to be her intelligence.  Not to say the King wasn't smart himself, but the two majored in different fields, so when added their wit and intellect together they created the perfect team to govern the country; not to mention some very heated arguments.  

            While the Queen could be quite opinionated and stubborn, she had a secret weapon that she could yank out whenever she saw fit.  And that was Vegeta.  She had him wrapped around her finger whether he knew it or not.  Silent tears or devastated pleadings often did the trick to make the sullen King give in; but this time he would not yield.  Love was an emotion that was a weakness to a king.  Never mind that he himself had fallen for his bride, it was a burden towards a man who had a whole population on his shoulders.  

            Vegeta snorted, and turned his stare away from her own, but she didn't follow.  Despite his eyes turned away, he could sense hers bearing into him.  With a low growl that added to his already beastly attitude, he turned back to face his wife, finding no comfort turning away from her.  

            "Woman,"  he began with an exasperated sigh, the name he often addressed his wife as, "it doesn't matter if he..."  he paused in his speech to physically cringe in order to make it apparent his feelings on the word, "...loves her or not.  It never does for a king."  This seemed to trigger something in her quiet manner.  

            "Never, huh?  So, are you saying you don't love me?"  

            "Love doesn't matter for a king.  Am I a king?"  Vegeta shot the words out slowly and deeply.  She wasn't sure whether to run up and slap him or to just curl up and cry.  How could he say he didn't love her?  They've been married for over twenty years!  She was always there for him, whether it was helping him solve a political debate, helping him relax in his off time, she even bared his child!  And yet; he didn't love her?  How?  When he was an arrogant, self-absorbed, conceited, unruly man; yet she loved him, how could he not find space in his heart for her.  It was heart-wrenching and left her feeling empty.  

            "So that's that?"  She asked, her voice quivering.  Bulma wore a smile on her pale features; definitely not one of joy, but the one placed when one tries to hold back tears that are begging to be let free.  Bulma hated to be seen vulnerable.  She hated it with a passion.  Vegeta already had a power over her - she didn't like to make it any worse by setting herself up as a weakness.  Pressing her eyelids shut for a second, she rolled back her tears, and lost her pained smile.  She wouldn't let him win.  She wouldn't give him the satisfaction he always seemed to derive from her when he pained her.  She didn't want to hear the heartless laugh that always ensued when her tears came.  She didn't want it.  

            Gathering whatever strength she could find in her body and mind, she stood up straight and walked briskly to the door.  With effort, she attempted to push past her husband and out of the room, but his strong hand reached out and grabbed her firmly.  The sheer force that his hand held on her own was enough to send tears to her eyes, so with these new ones reinforcing the old ones, her carefully built dam collapsed, and they flooded down her cheeks.  It was bad enough she had broken her promise not to cry, but he had to do his part as well.  The laugh. 

            It started out as a mere chuckle or sometimes a snicker, but it would grow until his entire body shook with his mad laughter.  Laughter towards her.  He pulled her towards him, and dubbed down his laugh in order to speak.  He chuckled quietly, holding the blue-haired queen at arms length, looking her up and down with his coal eyes.  

            Bulma cringed involuntarily.  She hated when Vegeta was like this.  She had come to terms on how to act when they were in public; their relationship was only a political one there.   But in their own time, which this was, she could be herself, and he himself.  All walls were torn down, and they learned to communicate.  Even when their monstrous arguments ensued, it was always followed by a peaceful, relaxing or passionate time with just the two.  But other times...  today it had been simply on their opinions for their son's marriage.  Was it that hard for him to at least listen to her?  Her opinions should matter!  Vegeta was bent on tradition and arranged marriages, but she wanted it to be for love.  So often arranged marriages fail, simply due to the fact that the couple don't know each other.  They aren't given the chance to either, when the whole ordeal is shoved in their faces, and resentment and anger has to be placed on someone, so they simply place it on their new spouse.  She and Vegeta had been different, but only on fluke.  Somehow their personalities mixed well enough that there was room for love.  At times though, it felt like there was nothing at all.  This was one of them.  

            Bulma raised her head and looked at her king venomously.  She was tired of being treated this way.  She had a long day, and she only wanted to fall asleep in his arms, and not have him cynically laughing at her.  

            "Curse you, Vegeta."  She spat out.  This only made him laugh louder.  With a burst of new-found energy, Bulma discovered she wouldn't let him mock her openly, and tore away from his grasp.  "You are so contemptible!"  She yelled.  This produced a smirk from him.

            "And you, woman, are so weak."  He replied back with mockery in his tone.  

            Weak?  Is that what she was?  No.  Weak isn't waking up everyday to an empty bed.  Weak isn't living your life where your inferiors fear you and your equals mock you.  Weak isn't putting up with his torments every day.  Weak isn't watching your son grow up before your eyes, only to follow in his father's footsteps.  That's not weak - that's strong.  

            "You're wrong."  Bulma replied shaking her head.  She looked up to Vegeta with an angry passion only shown on occasion.  "_You are the one who is weak.  You couldn't last a day in the real world.  You just sit on your high throne and give orders.  You think you rule this country... that its wealth and power is a reflection of your own.  And that is why you are wrong."   She looked up at him, satisfied with her speech, and was shocked to find his expression indifferent.  An insult like that hadn't struck a nerve?  But then she saw it.  His face may be unreadable, but his body language wasn't.  His fists were balled to the side, shaking in rage.  His eyebrows slowly descended downwards until they pointed angrily; more defined than usual.  _

            "You don't know what you say,"  he whispered through clenched teeth.  Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room.  Bulma stood for a few seconds, not fully comprehending what had happened.  But when it hit her, it hit her hard.  She sank to the ground and those tears flowed in a heavy downfall.  She had won.  She never had - ever.  Vegeta always had the last say.  Vegeta always had the last insult.  Never her.  But then Vegeta always brought them back together.  She didn't know how.  What had she done?  She pushed too far, and maybe this time, it was too far to come back from.  

            And with that, Bulma's world crumbled beneath her.  

***

            Vegeta stormed through the hallways, vengeance and anger written clearly all over his face.  Normally passerby's would bow, or give a sincere nod, and they'd be on their way, but if the King was in one of these 'moods', a different approach was necessary.  A handmaiden came towards the king, walking through the hallway heading in the opposite direction.  In her hands was a basket of freshly baked dinner rolls - no doubt she was returning from the market square.  Upon looking up, she noticed the king, smiled slightly and prepared to bow when he neared, but then she got a look at his face.  Fists still clenched and he was even muttering death threats under his breath.  Did she want to be near him? -  no way!  With a frightened cry, she dropped her basket and dashed to the wall, where she pressed herself tightly up against it so there was slim chance the king would even see her, much less bump into her.  

            "...incompetent... worthless... arrogant..."  was all she could make out through his clenched teeth as he walked by.  Hearing his footsteps dim, she stepped away from the wall, and began to pick up her basket and bread.  The king was certainly in a mood; she would hate to be the person that put him there, but then again, they would probably already be dead.  

            Vegeta was a strict ruler, but a just one.  Never had their country been more wealthy and successful.  He laid down fair rules, and he expected them to be obeyed.  Often their was hell to pay otherwise.  Unfortunately, every great leader has a down point, and his was his anger.  He did a good job of keeping it in check, but some days it was let loose, and those were the days you stayed away from him.  Placing the last roll on top of her basket, she stood up and dusted off her skirts before continuing her trek towards the kitchen, making a mental note to warn them of the king's foul disposition.  

***

            How could she do this to him?  He was the king!  Vegeta's grip became tighter as he stalked down the hallways.  She had _no right to say what she did.  None whatsoever!  It infuriated him.  He needed to vent, perhaps a good fencing match with his son would do the trick.  But then again, it was his son that had caused the argument in the first place.  Love. Bah.  It was never needed before, and it wouldn't be need for the future.  Why was Bulma so bent up on having his son marry for love?  His father had never needed it.  Vegeta didn't even know his mother - a sure sign that love wasn't in the equation.  The old man didn't even let her hang around long enough to meet her child.  She wasn't killed, that would be dishonorable, she was most likely locked away somewhere only used as a political character.  The queen wasn't needed to govern a country, only to keep it balanced.  So where did she get the idea that his son had to love his wife?  _

            Vegeta halted in his stride, as a thought struck him.  Perhaps it wasn't Bulma's idea at all.  His son had been known to go through her to get to him - it was possible the entire idea was his.  New anger boiled to the surface, and Vegeta changed his direction of walking towards the throne room where the prince was taking care of business.  He struggled to keep his pace normal, it wouldn't do to have the king gallivanting through out the castle, but he wanted, no, _needed to know if his son was foolish enough to believe in love.  _

            A young swordsman rounded the corner, and was advancing towards Vegeta.  He came from the direction of the training room, and since a large grin was stupidly plastered in his face, it would appear he had won some good matches.  When the man was close enough he bowed in Vegeta's direction.  

            "Your majesty,"  he addressed,  "Impeccable afternoon, isn't it?"  He added with an even more cheerier grin.  Had it been a normal day, Vegeta would have let the grin slide; he probably would let the small talk go as well.  But today was not normal.  Vegeta growled, and in a quick movement, grabbed the sword that swung from the young man's belt and used his own blade on him.  Vegeta was an expert, so in no second flat, the swordsman was on the ground in a bloody dead mess.  Satisfaction replacing some of the anger, he dropped the sword by the body and continued onward.  

            It wasn't uncommon to find dead people lying around the castle; not with a king like Vegeta.   The guards had become familiar with his fighting technique so were able to identify a corpse by the hands of the king or one by an enemy.    Rounding towards the final corridor, he spotted a market girl walking towards him.  It wasn't his style to kill females, but God help him he would.  However the girl looked up and saw him, and as she got closer, she also saw his expression.  With a small yelp, she dropped her basket of bread, and dashed to the far wall.  Vegeta strolled past her with a smirk.  That was interesting.  It seemed his market girls had more sense than his swordsmen.  

***

            It had been another dry boring day for the prince.  Sitting atop a high throne for the entire day wasn't his cup of tea.  The problems or tasks that were brought before him were meaningless and dull.  His word was final and no one ever argued it.  It just wasn't the place for a young man.  

            The prince was nearly twenty, and his youthful age shown through.  The prince had a reputation of being quite handsome, so there already was a string of girls eagerly in line for the role of being his bride.  He copied his muscular build from his father, but inherited more height from his mother.  This would have given him a demeaning appearance, except the prince had deep cerulean eyes and soft lavender hair that completely canceled that out.  From looks, he appeared to be a lady's man.  A show and tall figure without any leadership qualities.  That of course was only looks.  When he wanted to, his attitude could rival Vegeta's and he had the intellect of his mother.  He was the best of both worlds.  This worked for and against him, but in the end he could get his way.  And this was Trunks - prince and heir to the throne.  

            The large front wood doors to the throne room slowly pushed open, letting Trunks know that someone would be entering the room.  This gave him the motivation to sit up straight from his formal slouched position, and quickly smooth down his light blue tunic.  The doors finally swung open the entire way and a stout man glided in and walked towards the throne.  Trunks recognized him.  He didn't know the man's name, but he had grown to despise his presence.  He was the man who would enter when someone was there to see the King or himself.  Basically this man was the bearer of work.  Quite quickly, Trunks had begun to hate the stiff shuffle of his slippers, and swishing noise his maroon robes made when he walked.  Trunks never had any interest on who this man was, but his guess was he was someone important, by the clothes he wore.  Dark robes were often a symbol of power or intellect, aside from the royal attire, those clothes could represent someone second to the throne.  And for that, Trunks kept his respects for the man, although he hated the sight of him.  

            The man scurried up to the throne, his back hunched slightly, reminding Trunks of an old hermit scourging around for food.  He gave a slight bow but quickly stood tall.  Another reason Trunks disliked the man.  He saw himself of more an equal than an inferior.  

            "A matter of state has presented itself.  May I show the representative in?"  he asked, in a low yet screechy voice.  Since the messenger was all alone, the 'matters of state' where on the topic of commoners.  Had they been of high-class, there would be more diplomats and more delegates.  With a tired sigh, Trunks waved his hand in a casual motion, allowing the commoner in his presence.  He was raised to be a prince, there was no ifs or buts, it was apparent.  At any glance, he looked like prince material.  His looks, his smile, his just rule; he was the standard fairy-tale prince.  But not a king.  Trunks improved his posture, if possible since his back was already as straight as a board.  Even if it was a mere civilian, he had an image to keep.  He cast his gaze forward, and it landed on the citizen before him.  

            What he saw shocked him.  He expected an overly-plump, old man, but what he saw was a _complete opposite.  Before the crowned prince standing tall was a young woman, he at most three years her senior, determination rearing in her eyes.  No page boys, or grand entrances definitely struck Trunks' logic that she was a simple girl, and not a courtier, but her appearance... she looked neither like a peasant or a courtier, more of both.  Her simple blue dress and scratched cloak were definitely low class, and her hands weren't placed delicately before her like a lady's would, but hung at her side.  Her skin was tanned from hours in the sun but had a pale complexion underneath.  So although her garments and lifestyle may reflect a peasant - her beauty was meant for a queen.  Long ebony hair strung halfway down her back, only styled with a few braids near the front and pulled back to keep the front pieces away from her deep matching eyes.  Her lips were full, and they opened to speak.  _

            "Your highness?"  she questioned, a sense of authority evident despite her being the inferior.  This girl was a walking contradiction.  She had the grace, looks and air of nobility, yet dressed as a plebeian, and looked liked she worked long hours under the sun.  Maybe it was all a practical joke?  Or perhaps his father was testing him?  Was this really a noble lady in disguise?  No.  He had met _all of the nobles when he had set out to choose a bride.  Trunks was positive that he would have remembered such a vibrant young woman.  She was defiantly a commoner.  A beauty, but still, just a commoner._

            "Learn your place girl.  Don't speak towards royalty until you are addressed."  Trunks lectured, suddenly feeling extremely high and mighty in his clean silk tunics and grand castle.  "Now, what is it?"  he asked, purposely placing annoyance in his tone.  The girl's fists seemed to clench, and her once full lips, diminished into a thin line as if she was trying to bite her tongue.  

            "I am here,"  she spoke after calming, "on authority of the land which belongs to us."  She talked forcefully, but Trunks decided to let it pass.  However, she had made a slip.  'The land which belongs to us' was a false statement.  _He owned all of the land.  _

            "You mean _my land."  He spoke with arrogance.  This seemed to trigger something in her.  She took a step forward, and flared her arms as she spoke.  _

            "_Your land?!  Our estate has been in my family for decades!  We have been pouring our sweat and blood into it before your father was even a thought in his own father's eye!"_

            "Do not speak of your king so informally, girl."  Trunks spat out.  

            "I speak of him with all of the formality he deserves!  You can't just take away our land for taxes.  We have always been loyal and dutiful to this country!"  

            "Your loyalty means nothing to me,"  Trunks said icily.  "I could have your head for saying such things.  But since you are a mere child, a girl no less, who has no education what so ever, I'll let it pass.  So long as you get out of my sight."  She frowned, cringed, steamed, but in the end could do nothing.  She turned her back and walked briskly to the door, her thin skirts swirling around her, giving off a good indication on how slim her legs were.  Upon reaching the door, she paused and turned back towards him.

            "If you proceed in taking our estate, mark my words... you will regret the day you met Pan."  She turned and stepped out of the room with shattered dignity.  Trunks couldn't hold back a chuckle towards the spunky Son girl; Pan.  She had traveled all that way to the castle to plead for her estate back.  He recalled vaguely the case of the Son estate.  The farm itself provided quite a fair share to the country, and that was the reason it had sparked interest in his father to begin with.  He wanted such a flourishing farm to be under his control and by his own men.  Vegeta had made it sound like they had done something wrong and that was why their land was being over thrown.  In reality, perhaps the only thing done wrong was owning a successful cropland.  He chuckled slightly at her weak threat, and leaned back in his chair.  Being a prince was a cinch.  

            "Boy!"  The holler rang out in the spacious throne room, causing Trunks to to cover his ears to block out the loud echo.  The red-robed man dashed from the room, nearly tripping over his own feet when he saw who the rant had been issued from.  Trunks too, turned to see who it was, already having a good idea.  

            "Father?"  he questioned, as Vegeta stomped into the room.  Trunks mentally cautioned himself. It looked like his parents had been fighting again.  Trunks scrambled from his chair and stood to meet the King as he stalked towards him.  

            "Don't use that tone with me!"  Trunks mentally sighed.  It was worse than he thought.  He hadn't used any 'tone' of voice, so it meant Vegeta was extremely angry.  He stalked over to him and crossed his arms, adding a glare to his opposing figure.  "So?  Have you chosen your queen?"  Vegeta asked.  Now they would see whose idea this 'love' was.   Trunks took a step back and nervously bit his lip.  Now was _not the time to answer negatively, but what could he do?  He hadn't chosen a bride yet.  _

            "Father,  I was under the impression that you would be choosing for me... as the king and all."  Trunks stammered, fearing the worse from his answer.  Surprisingly, Vegeta looked relieved.  

            "So, she just has to be picked, and that's it?  No love?"  He asked, his anger dissipating by the second.  Trunks glanced back and forth trying to figure out his father.  Was this a trick question?  

            "I thought love got in the way of being a king."  Trunks said quietly.  Vegeta nodded, and beamed.  

            "That's exactly what I wanted to hear,"  he said with a slight nod of his head.  "Koslin will bring her to you,"  he said, referring to his future wife and with a smart smirk, Vegeta turned on his heel and left as soon as he had come.  Trunks was left gaping and confused.  What was that all about?  Did Vegeta even _know the word 'love' existed?  With a confused exhale of breath, he slumped back into his chair.  What a tiring day.  First the delay at breakfast, then that Pan girl, and now his father spurting nonsense.  It was enough to drive a prince mad.  What had Vegeta said?  Koslin?  Who was Koslin? Trunks gave up, his mind was too tired to think anymore. It was a long day, and Trunks just wanted to go to sleep; he didn't want __any interruptions whatsoever.  However, all fantasies of relaxing vanished when through the rustle of the curtain, who should return but... the guy in the red robes.  He stuck his long nose out, and peered around to make sure Vegeta had left the room before waltzing up to the prince.  Behind him followed a cloaked figure, attired in blues that matched the prince's robes.  _

            "Your highness..."  The man said with a bow.  "Allow me to present your bride,"  he said, gesturing towards the woman behind him, before standing up straight and re-shuffling out of the room, once again reminding Trunks of some poor lost hermit.  Now at least this 'hermit' had a name.  Koslin.  Trunks stood up and walked down the carpeted stair until he was on equal grounds with his future bride.  

            She was a few inches shorter than himself, and had grace, beauty and charm.  Unlike the other girl Pan, it was easy to tell that she was a noble woman. Golden blond hair curled around her angular face, giving her a sense of strong dignity.  She had piercing eyes that were the colour of the sea after a storm.  She was beautiful, but something about her bothered Trunks.  He knew all of the ladies in the court; but he had never seen her before.

            "What's you name?"  he asked, crossing his arms and taking a stroll around the girl.  It was like he was inspecting a horse for sale, a normal person would have felt weak and nervous under his stare, but she seemed neither.  

            "Do you love me?"  she asked.  Even her voice was perfect, and it made Trunks suspicious.  His father often said there was no such thing as a perfect woman; how could she appear to be then?  When her words hit him, he was taken aback.  Did he love her?  How absurd.  He wasn't even sure if he could trust her character, let alone love her.  

            "No,"  he answered bluntly, yet honestly.  He was half expecting a shower of tears, but none came.  In fact she seemed still unaffected.  She merely asked him another question.

            "Will you ever love me?"  she asked, stressing the word 'ever'.  Trunks stopped his circling and placed a hand on his chin as if in thought.  He tapped his foot softly, before turning to look her straight in the eyes.  

            "Mmm... no."  Once again he watched her expression, waiting for the sobs, but none came.  In the first few minutes he had met this creature she intrigued him.  Imagine an entire life with her.  

            "I see,"  she said simply.  Now it was her turn to do the surrounding.  She took careful strides around him, all the time having a knowing smile covering her sharp features.  "You wish to become king one day without love.  A noble ambition, yet unattainable.  I can guarantee you will die a lonely empty death without my help.  You see prince, you need love.  Whether you know it or not.  But I can sense that it would be impossible for you to ever have it.  Your heart is corrupt and your soul is too tainted to have the sacred emotion."  She paused to look at Trunks and his countenance.  He had a playful grin on his face, and was nodding to everything she said; he was mocking her.  "However, I have the ability to make your life a happy one.  But you must ready your heart first with friendship."  She walked directly in front of him and stood face to face with the prince.   

            Trunks blinked.  What happened?  His, oh so 'sane' fiancée was right in front of him until... a light.  As blinding as if you were to stare straight into the sun.  He blinked a few more times, focusing his eyes.  When the light dimmed, and his eyes focused back on his surroundings, Trunks looked around for the girl.  Sensing her more than anything, he whirled around to meet her standing behind him.  A playful grin was crossing her features, and it looked like she was holding back a laughing fit.  

            "What did you do?"  Trunks asked after a silence awkward to himself.  Her grin widened and this time she couldn't hold back a small giggle, before her face turned completely serious.  

            "I guaranteed you happiness.  All you have to do, is find the one that can see you, and bring him to me.  Do that, and I warrant your eternal content."   Trunks narrowed his eyes in confusion.  What was she talking about?  She just wasn't making any sense.  

            "I... I don't understand."  He was getting confused and slightly agitated.  This was to be his queen and she was speaking nonsense.  

            "Let me make it simple.  You can't live a happy life as you are now.  So, I took the liberty of casting a spell that would eventually allow you that.  If you can break the spell, then I personally can say you will be happy.  I won't marry you without love."  

            "Let's just pretend, for a second, that I believe you,"  Trunks said, really not sure whether to laugh at her, or cower.  Had she really cast a spell?  Magic wasn't unheard of, but it was definitely rare.  Most of it was also only practiced by old solitaries in the northern mountains, and she was a young village girl; was it even fathomable?  "You cast a spell on me?  So, how so I go about breaking this 'spell' as you say so I can... what was it?  Live in eternal happiness?"  Trunks let out a chuckle despite himself.  The woman nodded, and seemed to find it amusing herself that he found this so entertaining.  He would change his thoughts soon.  

            "To break the spell, all you have to do is find the one that can see you, and bring him to me.  If you can pass that, you are worthy of love."  

            "The one that can 'see' me, eh?"  He asked, with the tone of voice a parent uses towards his child when they use their simple child logic.  "_You can see me."  _

            "I cast the spell,"  she said.  Trunks still didn't understand; it was all a big joke to him.  With a sigh, she took him by the arm and led him to the other side of the room towards the large mirror that hung on the stone wall.  "Find the person that can see you,"  she repeated.  Trunks looked into the mirror, gazed at the girl reflected on it, she still looked the same.  Yet, he was still shocked at what he saw, or more of what he _didn't see.  According to the reflection, she was alone.  His reflection was not there.  The one who could see him?   Realization hit Trunks, and it hit him hard.  _

            "No... you - you...  You made me disappear?!"  

--

*does a wacky dance*  please review.

- Angel Eevee


	2. Seven Years Bad Luck

**A/N:  I got _much more reviews than I expected.  You guys are great.  It was also commented that "I don't know about dbz". Since this is my 9th t/p fic, I __really hope I know __something about dbz.  I'll stress again that this is _****alternate universe, _please keep that in mind.  See chapter one for disclaimer.  _**

**Last time:  Bulma and Vegeta are in a fight over Trunks' marriage, Trunks meets Pan, but dismisses her (the jerk), and he also meets his bride-to-be who slaps a spell on him.  What a nice girl…**

**"Seven Years Bad Luck"**

            This couldn't be happening.  It wasn't real - yes, that was it.  It was all some sick joke that someone was playing on him.  To think - on a prince?  It was traitorous, and someone would pay.  What had Trunks been thinking?  No one could change people invisible, especially not some innocent courtier.  But then how could he appear invisible?  

            Glancing down he could see his own body, and he could see hers as well.  But when he re-directed his gaze to the mirror... it was as if she were the only one in the room.  As if he wasn't there at all.  But he was!  Trunks was standing right beside her!  It didn't make sense... or did it?  It was the mirror.  Twisting his angular features into a smirk inherited from his father, he gingerly picked up the mirror and dropped it onto the floor.  His mother had liked that mirror, but there was obviously a spell on it.  No bewitched mirror could stand in the royal throne room.  

            She laughed.  He glared.  What was so funny?  This woman was infuriating him!  She was conniving and treacherous, yet looked like a lady!  Trunks was beginning to think that his judge of character was loosing its edge.  

            "And what is so funny?"  he asked, clenching his jaw.  She pointed down to the smashed mirror.  

            "That's seven years bad luck.  You'll need all the luck you can get in finding the person who can break the spell, and here you are - throwing it all away.  Tsk tsk.  You are a funny man."  Her voice rang with amusement, but with each word spoken, Trunks got more and more angry.  He wanted to strike her, but weighing the pros and cons, it'd probably be better if he didn't.  Instead, he opened his mouth for a comeback when he was interrupted by the familiar shuffle of robes and slippers, this time faster in pace.  Koslin.  The man ran in, pausing near the golden-blond, and paused with a hand to his chest to catch his breath.  Trunks wasn't sure if he had just ran a long distance or if maybe he was just overweight.  It was hard to tell his figure when he kept it all concealed in his garments.  He looked up upon catching his breath and glanced from side to side.  With a look of utter confusion, he turned to the girl.  

            "Did I hear something shatter?  And where is the prince?"  He asked, his voice sounding less ear-piercing than usual.  Actually, it sounded more angry than anything.  Trunks closed his eyes.  No; this was _not happening.  Was the entire castle in on this joke?!  _

            "Yes, this mirror regrettably fell,"  she replied, motioning towards the shattered fragments on the floor.  "And I don't know where the prince ran off to."  

            "I'm right here!"  Trunks shouted, fists clenched.  He did not like this game.  Koslin turned his head in every direction trying to find where the prince's voice had come from.  

            "Prince?"  he asked, still unsure of where he was, from his view, Trunks was no where in sight.  In reality; Trunks was directly in front of him.  

            "You keep playing these games and I will kill you myself!"  he yelled.  Koslin straightened up, and continued to search around frantically.  Trunks was beyond anger; now he was just petrified.  Could Koslin _really not see him?  This was bad.  Real bad.  _

            "Do you see him?"  Koslin asked, facing back towards the woman.  She shrugged her shoulders gracefully.  

            "I recall stating that he left."  Koslin nodded that uneven nod he possessed.

            "I remember.  But can't you hear him?  I don't now where he's calling from."   She quirked an eyebrow and slowly took a look around the room.  

            "He's not here... and I haven't heard a thing."  She said, sounding honest enough.  Trunks hands were starting to shake.  He was a prince! He had absolutely no experience on how to act in this situation.  Would anybody?  He had been made to disappear by his future wife!  If this girl thinks she can get away with making a fool out of the prince; she has another thing coming.  Trunks walked right up to Koslin, for the first time getting a whiff of his stench,  undeniably making Trunks think he truly _was a hermit.  Perhaps he slept in the western swamp at nights?  Keeping his breath in check, he leaned towards the man._

            "I am right beside you!"  he shouted, only inches from the man's ear.  Koslin whirled around, but saw nothing.  Koslin desperately turned towards the girl again.  

            "Can't you hear him?!"  he shrieked, his old shrilling voice returning.  The girl shook her head.  He shot her an odd look, as if the two were communicating through means he did not understand, before nodding slowly.  He whimpered quietly before lifting his robes around his ankles and quickly shuffling out of the room at speeds foreign to this slow-paced man.  Trunks heaved in disappointment.  That proved it.  Although he wanted to deny it, there was no way he possibly could.  He was invisible to the outside world.  They could hear him.  He could touch, talk and see them... but he was invisible to them.  He was alone.  

***

            It had been a long day.  She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to escape into her chambers and sleep.  The market place had been a swarm to begin with, and then with the run in with the angered king... it just plain wore on her nerves.  She fiddled gingerly with a loose thread on her apron, walking the darkened halls of the castle.  Her room wasn't too far off now.  Just a few more turns and...  oh no.  The King!  The King was coming her way.  

            She all to vividly remembered her earlier encounter with the man.  She had to drop her basket and dash to the wall just to escape him.  He had that blood-thirsty look in his eye that he would on occasion get.  She had been lucky to have escaped this morning.  In fact she had been surprised that he hadn't turned to her and cursed, slapped, or struck her.  He just kept on walking , muttering his curses along the way.  She had been fortuitous.   She didn't want to take any chances now.  

            With a quick thought, she dove to her left and scampered behind the woven tapestry that hung there.  She waited a second for her breath to re-catch, before peering one eye towards the hallway.  She stood perfectly still, waiting for the King to storm by.  The King did pass, but it was more of a stroll then a storm.  In fact he even looked half-glad.  With wonder, she poked her head out to watch his retreating figure.  He had a smug look on his somewhat dark face.  When he was out of sight, she completely emerged from the wall hanging and stood in confusion.  How could a once rage-ridden man be so calm and self-satisfied now?  Whatever had caused the change, she certainly wasn't going to complain.  With a delicate shrug, the young market girl turned back to her walking, relieved to have escaped the King's wrath twice in one day.  

            Vegeta was smug.  How couldn't he be?  He had been so paranoid that his son actually cared about marrying for love, that he would go through Bulma to get to him... but he was mistaken.  His son was right in line.  Now it was time to face Bulma.  Round two.  

            The King casually swung their bed chamber's door open, and glided into the room.  His dark eyes scanned the room quickly, trying to spot his queen.  He couldn't spot her at all.  His smirk disappeared, and he stepped further into the room, allowing his eyes to do a more through search of the room.  His vision finally spotted her sprawled out on the fainting table.  He hadn't really expected to see her there, which was surely the reason he had missed her the first time around.  He strode over to the table and looked down upon her sleeping form.  

            Her blue locks were draped all over the red cushioned makeshift bed.   He gently brushed a few strands away from her face, and bent down to pick her up.  Bulma had fallen asleep on the fainting table before, and had woken up with a strange kink in her neck.  Complained about it for an entire week.   Having the frame of mind not to go through that again, he easily hoisted her into his strong arms and carried her over to the bed.  She didn't stir at any of his actions, so he simply folded the blankets around her, getting undressed for sleep.  

            They argued.  It was an undeniable.  But that was part of their relationship.  It was one of the things that kept them going sometimes.  Being able to vent and get rid of tension in their lives; the results were always more passionate in the end regardless.  After a very emotional day, Vegeta dropped noiselessly onto the mattress, in an attempt to keep his wife asleep.  This worked, however, the sudden increase of warmth in the bed managed to bring her out of her sleep.  

            "Aieeee,"  she gasped, sitting straight up in bed, obviously surprised at something.   Sensing immediately who it was that had startled her, she turned her head towards her husband.  Vegeta was smirking, resting against the headboard with his hands supporting his head like a pillow.  

            "Woman, calm down,"  he said amusingly.  Although sometimes people may wonder it, he did like having Bulma for his wife.  It had all been arranged by his own father, and Vegeta had an inkling they weren't on good terms with one another when he chose her.  Bulma was a vibrant, energetic, loud-mouthed, obnoxious beauty who could get on anybody's nerves.  Things hadn't changed much at all.  His father no doubt was seeking a mild revenge for whatever Vegeta had done, but in actuality had granted Vegeta a gift.  Through all the arguments and yelling, in the end, heck, even then, Vegeta was glad to have her by his side.  She was never humble; giving him something to fight for - something one missed out on when you were king.  She could always amuse him with her unpredictable ways.  She kept the spark in his life burning. 

            "What am I doing here?"  she asked quietly.  Vegeta's smirk faded in disappointment.  He had expected an onslaught of pillows, or a smack on the head, a loud curse... _something from his wife, yet she just stared at him; expressionless.  _

            "What do you mean 'what am I doing here'?"  Vegeta asked, not comprehending.  

            "I was over there,"  she said pointing to the fainting table.  

            "Woman, put two and two together.  I carried you here because last time you made a huge fuss about being left there."  

            "Last time I _wanted to be with you."  Her voice was icy, and not like her at all.  "I shall move out of these chambers."  Bulma informed her husband casually.  "If love doesn't bind me here, I shall have my own room, and only appear at your bidding."  _

            Vegeta seemed unaffected by the words she spoke, as well as the tone she spoke with and gazed at him with.  It was cold.  Had he been a normal man, he may have gotten shivers on the spine, but he had used the same tone and stare before himself.  Besides, he wasn't really understanding what she was saying.  Her own room?  

            "Make sense,"  he said, rolling his eyes dramatically.  She straightened up, and faced him fully.  Cerulean eyes burning into tenebrous ones.  

            "You said you don't need love, so there's no point in me wasting mine,"  she spoke, sliding out of the covers, walking back to her formal slumbering spot.  He watched her carefully, as she quietly laid down for the night, keeping her body turned away from him.  What was she trying to prove?  That he didn't love her?  Hadn't he already said that?  Bulma was just carrying out.  If he didn't love her, there was no point in them sharing their lives together.  She would be what every other queen before her had been.  A political formality, and nothing else.  If being the queen meant not loving your king, providing an heir to the throne, an arm to escort at dinner parties; if that's all it took, Bulma could do that.  To Vegeta, that's all that was necessary, in the making of a queen.  

***

            His legs were getting sore.  Trunks had been pacing across the throne room's entrance since Koslin had scampered away, attempting to sort out the mess he was in.  Pacing.  It was a habit he acquired as a youth, and it normally helped to clear his mind.  It was a simple task, and it was the best way to contrive your mind for thinking.  If you were sitting down, the thoughts and worries would seem worse and more burdensome, which is no way to create a resolutionable environment.  Any other action such as running, riding or swimming would simply take too much concentration, and your problems wouldn't get solved. Pacing was a low mind-level activity which allowed him room to think, but also to vent out some anger in his strides.  

            The girl had long since retired to the throne, and had her legs casually draped over the arm of the dais.  Her intriguing eyes were always plastered on him; always watching - every move he made.  Sometimes a small giggle would make its way up from her throat, but for the most part she just watched.  

            He was stuck.  Trunks had given up his idea of the castle playing a trick on him.  For one, he really didn't think anyone would have the backbone to do such a thing on a prince, secondly it was no where near the day of fools, and finally, from what Trunks had seen, people genuinely could not see him.  This left him with the solution.  He had to get back to normal.  To break this curse.  Unfortunately, he didn't understand how to break it, and there was only one way to find out.  His pride was what kept him walking in paces.  Seeing no way out, he stopped his walking, leaving his legs in a state of cramps from the sudden stop of exercise.  

            "All right.  Tell me how to break this spell,"  he said towards his 'future wife'.  He made sure to keep his voice sounding pure, not wanting to make her aggravated or annoyed.  His salvation rested in her hands.  At his voice, she swung her legs to the front of the chair and leaned her elbows on her knees.  Her blue eyes twinkled mischievously, and a small smile played on her lips.

            "I've already told you, but I could tell you again I suppose.  All you have to do, is find the one person who _can see you.  Bring him back to me, and I shall return you to your normal state."  Trunks chewed on this for a moment before nodding.  That wouldn't be too hard.  He had a good couple of hours to get used to the idea of being invisible, and had finally accepted that he just had to do what the girl said to get changed back.  Yet, one question still boiled in his mind.  _

            "Why did you do this to me?"  he asked, almost devastatingly.  She sighed, and glanced away.  She crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands together giving her a lady-like posture, especially compared to her last stance.  

            "Simple.  You think you can rule this country without love... I have the entire country to worry about.  You can't love someone without befriending them; yet you can't even do that.  You don't know friendship.  _So, with this little spell, hopefully you will learn how to make and keep friends.  Then, you will be ready to love.  I will be waiting for you."    She stood up from her spot at the throne and walked over to where he was positioned.  She reached her hands up, and held his firm chin in her soft fingers.  She smiled a genuine smile and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.  "I know you can do this,"  she whispered into his ear, before stepping away from him fully and walking away._

            He didn't see her go.  He more recognized that she had been there, and now she wasn't.  The kiss hadn't stunned him, or her touch perplexed him; he just wasn't paying attention.  Trunks could do this.  He was the prince, and he could do anything he desired.  It could be an adventure.  How bad could it be?  All he had to do was find this person, bring him back to the castle, and everything would be fine again.  It was a walk in the park.  

            Trunks exited the throne room, and made a start towards his chambers.  It would be better to leave in the morning rather than now anyway.  It was already past sunset, so the streets would be empty; how could he find the person who could see him if they weren't outside?  All logic stated to wait the night out.   Yet, that would be difficult.  No one could see him.  The thought of it alone would be unsettling to anyone.  No one could see him, so he was completely isolated.  No one to talk to except his own thoughts, looking upon the world, but not being able to be looked upon yourself; it was some curse.  It left Trunks with an empty feeling he didn't like.  But he was the crowned prince; he could get through this.  

            With a heavy temperance, Trunks laid down to escape into dream land.  There, he could be seen.  In his dreams, he could give orders and have them obeyed.  In fantasies he could forget that he was invisible, and dream of more happy things.  He could forget entirely what had happened to him that day, and all about that woman.  But as he closed his eyelids, happy visions didn't enter his mind.  Only the darkness he was now left in, and a raven haired girl laughing.  A girl that Trunks recognized quite easily.  A girl by the name of Pan.

***

            Today was the day.  He would be leaving the shelter of his home to venture out into the world; of course this was entirely by force and not by choice.  What could he do?  He was cursed.  He was over twenty years old, this should be an easy task for him, but he had never left the castle like he was doing now.  Sure, he had been out on hunts with teachers and such, and he had gone for horse rides, but never all alone.  And all the other times, the people could _see him.  Trunks had already packed a few items in a bag, that was now slung over his shoulder.  The curse varied a lot. Sometimes, articles he put on, such as his clothes and bag, remained invisible with him, but other things, like his royal seal remained visible.  He thought to bring his seal to prove he was the prince to the person who could see him, but the curse seemed to not want that to happen.  _

            Trunks let out a shaky sigh, the bag strap clutched tightly in his hands, as he steadily headed towards the castle's main doors.  They would take him out of the safety of his home and into a world that he didn't know.  It would have been an adventure in itself to set out into the common world, but to be invisible at the same time was just cruel.  But he would succeed.  He had to.  With determination, he raised his head, took the time to brush light lavender strands out of his eyes, and walked with conviction.  

            Trunks had almost made it to the exit door when he met someone in the hall - Bulma.  He froze to take one last look at his mother, and was shocked to see her face.  She looked heart-broken, sad and miserable.  Her normal bouncy hair lay limp around her shoulders, and she seemed to be dragging her feet.  Trunks realized it looked like she hadn't slept at all, and instantly wondered what happened.  Was it his father?  Vegeta was known for his temper and sometimes his mouth got the best of him.  But no, that couldn't be it.  His father was in a good mood when he left the throne room last night.  But then what could it be?  Trunks desperately wanted to know, but he didn't have time to stay and make sure his mother would be okay.  Besides, what could he do?  She couldn't see him.  With a saddened sigh, Trunks was forced to turn away from his depressed mother.  

            "Don't worry mother.  Everything will be alright soon... I promise I'll be back."  He whispered quietly, but loud enough for her to hear.  Her slow shuffle stopped, and she whirled around, curiosity replacing the depression in her eyes.

            "Trunks?"  she asked to thin air.  She couldn't see him.  She quirked an eyebrow, and continued on her path.  Trunks sighed and watched his mother go.  He nodded his farewell to her, before exiting the castle - never to return until he could break the curse.  

***

            The sun was well up into the sky.  Trunks had been walking for what seemed like forever, and his legs were starting to ache.  He wasn't used to walking for hours, and even taking continual breaks wasn't helping him at all.  With a tired sigh, he slumped down onto a large rock to catch his breath and let his legs rest.  He had left just after sunrise and the sun was past being over head, so he deemed it time to have something to eat.  He reached into his shoulder pack and pulled out a package of leftover lamb he had taken from the kitchen.  He placed it carefully on his knee before digging in his bag again to find some cheese.  Finding the item he was looking for, he pulled it out and turned to his meat to discover it being eaten.  A small chipmunk sat happily perched on his knee chomping down on his lamb.  

            "Hey!"  he shrieked.  "That's mine!"  The chipmunk glanced up at him, but continued to munch.  "Why you little..."  Trunks rolled his pointing finger back in his thumb, getting ready to flick the rodent off his lap, but when he brought his hand towards the chipmunk, it merely feasted its teeth on something other than leftover lamb.  With a yelp he withdrew his hand.  The rodent had bitten him!  With a growl, he was about to back hand it away, when a thought struck him.  How could this chipmunk bite him?  He was invisible!  With a shrug, he realized that the curse must allow more than just one person to see him.  It was made clear there was only one _person who could see him, but perhaps animals could too.  This could make things easier.  With a satisfied smile, he looked down to discover the chipmunk gone.  However so was his meat.  With a more intense growl, angry over losing his meal, he reached into his bag and felt something furry brush by his hand.  With a yell, he quickly retreated his hand from his pack, and peeked in.  Inside the leather pouch were four rodents, all happily chowing down on his food._

            "No!"  he yelled, causing them to scamper and run away, taking whatever food they held with them.  With a depressed sigh, Trunks realized that there was only crumbs left.  How could they be that hungry?  Wasn't there food in the forest for them?  Trunks whimpered, his stomach hungry, but could do nothing until he got to the next town.  Carefully placing the much lighter bag on his shoulder, he took his losses and continued on his trek.  Judging his distance, he figured he could be in the next town in an hour, and then he could get some food.  Besides, a town meant lots of people, and he could walk around, with more people, the more likely someone could see him.  It was simply getting rid of the sightless people in large groups.  

            "It won't be that much further,"  Trunks whispered, to himself, his stomach and his aching legs.

            Over an hour later, Trunks plodded into the small shop.  It was mid-afternoon, and the scanty amount of food he had taken from the kitchen that morning had unfortunately been... disposed of.  He was urged to continue on, all to eager to relieve himself of the curse, yet his stomach had different plans.  Protesting enough that he was enable to continue on, he was forced to stop to get some food.  The small bakery would be perfect.  The smell of homemade, fresh-out-of-the-oven bread, had invaded his senses the moment he got in range.  It smelt tantalizing, and he knew he had to have some.  It shouldn't be too hard, he would just have to wait for the baker to turn his back, so he could grab some without him seeing bread lift up seemingly by magic.  

            Trunks walked into the store, and to his disappointment, there was a customer in the bakery already.  No matter.  He would just have to modify his plans slightly, and wait for him... err, her to leave.  By the counter stood a young girl, a good head shorter than him, over at the counter talking to the baker.  When he walked in, the door had creaked, causing both the customer and baker to glance over by the door.  At first it got under his skin to have people look at you and not be able to see you, but it didn't bother him this time.  He recognized that customer.  Pan.  

            Her eyes were narrowed, and a scowl plastered onto her naturally pale features.  It caused Trunks to smile.  Was this girl _always scowling?  _

            "Windy out today,"  the large baker replied, nodding towards the door.  Trunks grinned at sneaking in so easily.  It was rather windy out today, so he had a cover up, but on still days he would have to be more careful.  It would be difficult to grab some food with the shop tender being suspicious of someone being in the store.  

            "Uh... yeah,"  Pan said uncertainly.  Trunks' grin widened at the girl.  She didn't seem to be too intelligent despite his earlier thoughts of her being quite sharp.  Pan glanced over at the door and smirked before turning back towards the baker.  "I'd like to get a loaf... since I'm in town."  

            "Sure honey.  Brings me t'a question.  What ye doin' in dis 'ere town?  Don't see you 'round much, 'cept in de harvestin' season,"  the baker spoke, while getting her bread ready.  Pan smiled at the man, but smirked on the inside.  

            "You're right.  But I was visiting the castle."  

            "Eie, you be der why?"  he asked.

            "Well, that stubborn, self-centered, conceited brat of a prince is stealing our farm from under us, and I wanted to see if I could change his thick-headed mind,"  Pan spat, with a smirk, counting her money to pay while she spoke.  The baker, stood with a half-smile at her outburst.

            "I see ye think highly of that der prince.  Did you get yer farm back?"  he asked, slipping the fresh bread into a cloth.  Pan slumped her shoulders with a sigh.

            "No.  The prince is an ugly monster who wouldn't see reason if it danced naked in front of him."  She pushed her coins forward, and took the bread in her arms.  "Thanks,"  she said in reference to the bread.  The baker nodded, about to continue the conversation on the bread when the bell went off in the back signifying the rolls on the fire were finished.  Besides, Pan had already turned her back and was walking out.  

            Trunks was fuming.  How dare she say that!  The little brat wasn't worth his trouble, but it still bothered him to have her speak that way.  It was treason.  However, there wasn't much he could do in his state without arousing confusion.  There wasn't _much he could do, but there was something.  With a smirk, he stepped to the side of Pan's path, and outstretched his leg to the right.  No one would think anything of a young girl tripping.  With all their skirted fabrics, it was common for them to stumble, besides, her hands were full.  It was low, but he would take satisfaction in seeing her tumble to the floor._

            Pan walked over to the door, shifting the bread in her arms.  She continued on, Trunks' outstretched foot only a few steps away.  She took a step forward.  Almost there.  With a few more strides she was there - but stopped.  She stood her feet planted to the ground just before his foot.  She slowly looked down, the looked towards the door.  With a smirk, she looked back down to the ground.

            "Creative,"  she said, sarcasm oozing in her tone.  With a smart grin, she exaggerated her steps and proceeded over his outstretched foot and continued out the door without touching his body once.  Trunks seethed.  How could she step over him at the _exact spot where he would have tripped her?  It wasn't fair.  The gods must either be mad at him, or favour her.  With a sigh, he treaded to the front of the store, angry at what she said and that he hadn't been able to trip her.  Trunks reached for a roll when the baker re-entered the room.  Not wanting to get caught he dropped it.  How would someone react to seeing a bread floating in the air by itself.  Not good.  _

            "That girl..."  the baker muttered.  "Badmouthing de prince like that.  Almost as if she knew he could hear her,"  he mumbled, setting out more loaves.  Trunks stared.  

            _'Almost as if she knew he could hear her' ...  'creative' ... How could she step over him at the exact__ spot where he would have tripped her?_

            And then it clicked.  It wasn't luck that she stepped over his foot.  She had meant to!  She knew it was there, which meant... she was the one!  Pan was the one who could break his spell.  And she had just walked away.  

            And Trunks had no idea where she went. 

---

Review pleeease?

-Angel Eevee


	3. Lifeless Queen

**A/N:  Thank you for all the lovely reviews, especially those that chose to write more than 'write more soon'  ^.^  See chapter one for disclaimer.**

**Last Time:  Trunks finally leaves the castle to try and break his curse, his lunch gets eaten by rodents (poor prince), Pan gets some insults on him at the Baker's, he discovers that she is the one who can see him (bet that was a shocker [sarcasm]) when he tries to lamely trip her, but could not.  Things just aren't going his way.  **

**"Lifeless Queen"**

                It was her!  The overwhelming comfort that he possessed in just knowing who could see him was tremendous.  It was only the first day of his journey, and he had discovered the key to breaking his curse.  It was perfect.  Of course it was his bad luck that it happened to be _her, since she didn't really think that highly of him... it might be difficult to persuade her to return to the castle with him.  _

            With a grin, Trunks completely forgot about his hunger and dashed out of the bakery in pursuit of Pan's retreating figure.  The large baker glanced up from his bread, as the thud of the door rang through, yet no one had entered his shop.  

            "Strange wind,"  he muttered, before completely shrugging it off his mind.  Trunks stood on the doorstep looking frantically around.  Where was she?  His eyes darted all around the crowded market streets, but he couldn't find her.  He searched for the raven hair, but none were even near the dark pitch hers possessed.  She simply wasn't there.  Perhaps she had gone into another store?  It was possible, but unlikely.  She had probably purchased that bread for the walk home - wherever that was.  Trunks stamped his foot in aggravation.  Why couldn't he remember?  It was in the corner of his mind, but he couldn't recall the location of the Son farm.  

            He knew the Son farm was a huge asset to the country.  It was common knowledge in the castle, and Vegeta had taken an immediate interest.  The Son farm produced so many goods, it was almost unimaginable for a single farm.  They were completely loyal to the crown, that Trunks knew, dispite the young Son girl's rebellious attitude towards himself.  However, this working plantation had a bad side.  The owner was too lenient.  He would sell to the poorer folk for lower prices, excepting the promises that they would be paid back.  Sometimes they would exchange goods for work, or even give away sometimes to the extreme poor.  This caused major profit decreases in what they could produce.  Vegeta thought if he seized control over the farm, he could keep the prices at par, increasing the value of the farm and helping his kingdom at the same time.  

            Trunks knew all of this.  He had attended many diplomatic councils, and knew most of what went on throughout the country, but he couldn't pull from his mind the location of the Son farm.  Since he didn't know where it was, Pan was no where in sight, and no one else could see him, what was he supposed to do?  He was stuck.  Stalemate.  No looking back now.  He had to think up a plan and he needed it quick.  

*

            Trunks casually walked down the dusted streets of the town.  He didn't know the town's name, and that fact didn't bother him.  Neither did the fact that his stomach was empty and he had no food.  All that mattered was breaking the curse.  And the hard part was already done.  He had found the person who could see him.  Now he simply needed to find where she had run off to.  

            With a pained scoff, Trunks glanced down at his boot.  They were princes' boots.  They weren't built for long-distance walking, and they were wearing thin.  They were designed for show, not for work.  His toe was throbbing from various stones he had kicked or stubbed upon.  With a sigh, he decided he needed a break.  He sat down on a pile of straw beside a woman's booth that was selling woven fabrics.  With careful, memorized movements, he unlaced his boots and gently removed his aching foot from the leather.  

            No wonder.  The pain wasn't his imagination at all.  His toe had a nasty cut, perhaps a blister that had grown and then unknowingly broken, and blood was slowly dripping down his foot.  It wasn't a major cut, but it was enough to bring attention to his nerves.  Although he didn't have any food, he did have water.  Trunks reached to his side and lifted the canteen that held his water supply.  Sewn together with sheep's hide, it had a special insulation within it to keep the water cold, and as he dripped some onto his injured foot, it not only washed away the drying blood, but also offered relief to the sore muscles.  

            Trunks closed up his water canteen, and decided to take a rest.  Walking around aimlessly wouldn't get him anywhere.  He needed a place to go - he needed an idea of what direction to walk to.  So, for now, he would just have to wait until an opportunity presented itself.  He watched the people work around in their little market street, he had never seen the common people at work before.  It was like a well thought out dance.  They all worked in harmony, each knowing their role.  Bargaining, offering, selling, buying... they all did it in time with everyone else.  As if an understanding existed between them all.  It was if they didn't mind being poor, as if their simple lives were satisfying.  What was he missing?  Was it all some large conspiracy?  There must be something else to it - there was no way they could exist as they did and be happy.  

            Trunks turned his attention as he saw two small boys running down the street, yelling in delight, a small doll tucked in one grasp, and a younger girl chasing after him.  He had to hold in a chuckle as he saw the pudgy little girl, her skirts hiked up to her knees chasing after the boys to retrieve her stolen doll.  He watched as the man running a cart of potatoes, grabbed one of the boys by the back of his shirt, and pried the doll from his fingers, causing the boys to give up and scamper off.  The man waited until the little girl caught up, before he handed her the doll.  She smiled warmly and hugged the toy tightly to her chest.  The man let out a chuckle, reached beside him to a neighboring cart where he lifted a small flower, which he presented to the little girl.  Trunks watched as the little girl smiled and blushed, then dashed away telling anyone that was in range that she had gotten a flower.  Turning back to the potato man, he was chuckling, and the woman who owned the flower cart was grinning.  

            He had not paid for the flower, yet the woman seemed to not mind.  They didn't act as if they were friends.  How could it be?  He watched the little girl skip along the streets, and for the first time, Trunks noticed something.  The friendly smiles on everyone's faces, the neighborly gestures... it was like he was finally let into their secret.  

            Unlike in his world, they were genuinely happy.  At the castle, they interacted with respect and dignity.  Nothing more.  Here, it was all real.  No forced smiles.  Nothing was staged.  It was all natural.  It gave off a calming aura, yet it was foreign to him.  It made him resentful.  How could these mere commoners have such a great gift, yet he was unable to have it with all his money and power?  It was a cruel joke.  

            When a young lady walked up to the weaving booth beside him, Trunks was zapped out of his thoughts.  She gazed carefully over the selection before asking anything.

            "How much for your satin-green?"  she asked.

            "Twenty,"  the owner grunted.  She hadn't even looked up, Trunks noticed with amazement.  The owner's back was turned, and she was working on weaving a new article of cloth.  The shopper, turned to another. 

            "And the red shawl?"  

            "Fifteen,"  she snorted back.  Her voice could use some improvements, Trunks thought in disgust, the un-lady-like fashion that she talked in was making him cringe, yet this woman could help him.  She sprouted information without looking at the speaker.  He just might be able to get somewhere with her.  

            The buyer shifted through some more clothing while Trunks waited patiently.  After a few more articles, she found the one she desired, paid, and left.  Now was his chance.  He slid his sore foot back into his worn boot, and stood up to the front.  

            "Could you direct me towards the Son Farm?"  he asked.  It was strange to talk like that.  He had never really asked for anything in his life before.  He wanted it, he got it.  What if she didn't know?  He would be back at stalemate.  He needed to find Pan.  

            "Past the Western Hills,"  she snorted out.  Perfect.  

            "Indeed,"  Trunks cheered, before dashing off.  He was on his way.  He had a destination to go to now.  He would be visible by tomorrow!  With a lighter conscious, he set out towards the Western Hills, thankful that he knew where those were. 

 *

            "Pan, I told you it was a pointless battle,"  Gohan said with a sigh.  He hadn't expected much to come from it at all.  The King wasn't one to change his mind.  His daughter merely kept her scowl - she hated being controlled.  He sighed in sympathy. "Its all right Pan.  We've always been kind to this town... we'll start a new farm or something.  Don't make that face.  I told you before you left that king Vegeta wouldn't change his mind."  

            "I didn't see the King.  I saw his pig-headed son!"  Pan shrieked in annoyance.  Gohan sighed.  He was glad to have his daughter home.  The castle was a good days walk away, and he missed her spunky attitude while she was gone.  Her personality really livened up the farm, and she was a favourite among the farm boys.  He had learned to keep her doing inside chores, because if she made it near the boys, they wouldn't work at par.  It was no shock that Pan was an eye-turner on the farm, she was rather beautiful.  Her midnight eyes and hair cast a mysterious look, causing every man to want to know their secrets.  But he didn't want Pan to marry one of them.  He wanted more for her.  

            "The prince you say?  And he wasn't reasoned with?"  Gohan asked.  That was a disappointment.  It made another stubborn king in the making.  

            "Yeah the prince,"  Pan said, disgust evident.  

            "You didn't enjoy seeing him?  I heard he was quite handsome."  

            "Oh he's handsome... if you like cocky attitudes and stuck up noses."  Pan placed her hands on her hips and stuck her nose in the air.  "I am the prince, blah blah blah,"  she mocked, which Gohan met with a chuckle at his daughter.   In a couple of years she would be past twenty, yet she still acted like a child at times.  

            "Panny, it's almost dinner time.  Your mother would have a fit if she saw you as you are.  Why don't you go wash?"  he suggested.  Pan took a glance over her body.  The dirt from the road had trailed up covering most of her legs in light dust, and her face was rather grungy.  She nodded in agreement to his suggestion, and turned to leave.  Since it was still light out, she would take advantage of that and swim in the lake.  It would mean walking back a bit the way she came, but it would be worth it,  she could already feel the cold waters washing away not only the dirt, but her stress and worries too.

*

            It was infuriating.  She had absolutely no right to do this to him.  He was a king, and she was merely... the queen.  Ugh, it didn't even make sense.  Vegeta snarled in his chair, the treaties and other sorts of work in front of him weren't spared any of his attention.  He had more pressing matters to worry about.  Not only was his wife completely ignoring him, but his son had disappeared as well.  No one had seen him since last night, and it was only adding to his nerves.  

            Her words from last night rang out in his mind.  

            "You said you don't need love, so there's no point in me wasting mine."  Is what she had said.  Bulma was a mind-boggler.  All women were a task to figure out, but Bulma was worse.  She was impossible!  He had been with her for over twenty years, and in those two decades he knew as much about her as he did the day he set eyes upon her.  

            That day was still sharp in his memories.  He had been an arrogant foolish prince... not much had changed since then in that aspect.  His mother had been the one to present Bulma as his bride.  Even then something had caught his interest.  Later on he found out Bulma was picked due to the similarities in her personality with his own.  They both had tempers, were as stubborn as anything, yet passionate all the same.  At that moment he didn't know any of that though.  All he knew was the beauty of the woman that stood before him.  Her beauty hadn't decreased at all since then, it might have changed in some ways, but she still looked as gorgeous as then.  Her unique cerulean eyes and hair certainly caught a lot of attention from all of the males.  It was almost as if she had stepped out of an old fairy-tale book.   

            But she was no fairy-tale princess.  She was loud and obnoxious.  She always wanted her own way.  But this time... this time she gave him what he wanted.  She would be his queen, not his wife.  And there was a difference.  He hadn't retired to his chambers for the night yet.  He... yes, why not admit it?  He was afraid to go back. They would be empty.  Bulma wasn't there.  Love kept her with him, and he had forcefully shoved it away.  But love was for the weak.  She was weak.  He would be strong.  

            He wasn't going to his room because Bulma wasn't there, he told himself mentally.  He wasn't going there because he wasn't tired.  ...No, he was enraged.  That was better.  At his foolish son's disappearance.  Where did that boy run off to?  He had spoken to him just before going to bed last night.  His bed looked slept in this morning, but no one had seen him all day.  The castle was huge, hence filled with many, many people.  It was impossible to go the entire day without anyone seeing him.  It couldn't happen.  Even if Trunks had tried to keep himself hidden, he would have been spotted by at least someone.  Yet the entire castle reported that they had not seen him at all.  It was almost as mind-irritating as Bulma.  

            Bulma.  Now that he thought of it, he was rather tired.  With a nod, Vegeta pushed his chair out and exited his lounge.  It was time to go to bed.  Tomorrow, he would make her return to their room.  He could think of a reason why by then.  It was bad for the king and queen to be separated - might give out rumors to nosy page boys.  Yes, that was it - an excellent excuse.  It wasn't that he couldn't stand to be without her... it would be nice to escape her endless nagging, yet he might miss... she needed protection.  If she were harmed it would look terrible on his part.  Yes, for the honour and safety of the kingdom, she had to stay with him.  

            Smirking at his own genius, Vegeta walked into his room, only to be taken back by what was there.  His bed was being occupied.  On closer inspection, Vegeta spotted aqua locks peaking out from under the covers.  Deepening his smirk, Vegeta stood by the bed, and curled his fingers around the blankets.  With a quick movement of his hands, he pulled all of the bedspreads right off of the bed.  Bulma curled her body unconsciously from the lack of warmth, and this discomfort brought her out of dream world.  She groggily sat up and her clear eyes searched for the source of her awakening.  Her eyes landed on Vegeta.   

            His smirk remained as he waited for it.  The onslaught of curses that would spill from her mouth.  The flaring of hands as she tried to slap some sense into him.  It was fruitless, yet she continued to do it time after time.  He waited for her eyes to flame up with anger, he waited for her to grab the covers back. However, Vegeta was waiting in vain.  None of these came.  She merely looked at him sadly, and slowly sneaked towards him and brought her arm out to take the blankets back.  

            "Uh uh,"  he said tauntingly, bringing the covers out of her reach.  She looked at him once more with those eyes.  Somehow she had gotten them to be lifeless, and they sent chills up his spine.  She slipped off the matress, and walked over to the chest at the end of the bed.  With an effort due to her tired muscles, she dragged a quilt out of the chest, and curled up with it on the bed again, not giving Vegeta another glance.  

            "What are you doing?  What point are you trying to make?!"  he yelled angrily.  Her attitude was enraging him.  He could make comebacks when she yelled and screamed, but he couldn't do a thing when she wouldn't even acknowledge him.   With fury, he reached over, and pulled her body over so she was facing him.  He grabbed her chin, and shook her lightly to get her to look at him.  This was a mistake on his part, for she only gazed at him with those same lifeless eyes.  He knew it was all an act.  She wanted to prove that if he didn't love her, she wouldn't love him.  But she didn't have to make it so convincing!  

            "I demand to know what you are doing!"  he snarled, his face only inches away from her own.  

            "I'm trying to sleep,"  she spoke, almost as lifeless as her eyes.  She was a good actress, he would give her that.  

            "I thought you were going to leave,"  he said mockingly, climbing into bed himself after letting go of her chin.  He could feel her shrug beside him.  

            "If the people knew the king and queen were separated, they might think the king wasn't strong enough to even keep his wife, let alone a kingdom.  It keeps the rumors down this way,"  she explained quietly.  Bulma was too smart.  She had been able to tune into his exact thoughts on the subject.  It seemed it was always like that.  She knew what he wanted, and she knew when to pry, or when to leave him alone. She knew a lot about himself, perhaps more than he did.  

            "Humph,"  he muttered, laying down on the bed.  He resisted the urge to hug her.  He always slept with her in his arms, it was his way of protecting something.  He needed to protect someone, and she was the most important thing to protect.  Vegeta rolled away from her in disgust.  He was just a walking contradiction.  One minute he was thinking how he didn't need her at all, and the next he couldn't think how he would live without her.  

            "Trunks is gone, isn't he?"  Bulma asked softly from her side.  

            "Yeah,"  Vegeta returned.  

            "He'll be back..."  she mumbled, once again returning to sleep.  Vegeta abandoned his plans of keeping his distance and rolled over to face his wife.  

            "How do you know?  Did he tell you where he was going?"  Vegeta asked, both surprised and curious.  

            "Not really.  But he talked to me."  

            "Well?  Woman, what did he say?"  

            "He said, 'Don't worry mother.  It will be all right and I promise I'll be back.'... or something like that."  

            "When was that?"  Vegeta questioned again.  

            "This morning."  So he had been about today after all.  He was beginning to think his son was a ghost.  

            "So you saw him?  Why in heavens didn't you tell me that when the entire castle has been asked if they've seen him.  Woman, use some sense!"  Bulma rolled her own body over so she was facing Vegeta, so they could look eye to eye.  

            "Because I didn't _see him, I merely heard him,"  she said, angrily.  With a sigh, she turned back over and nestled into the covers, seeking some sort of comfort and warmth, for she would be receiving neither from the man next to her.  He grunted and decided to let the conversation come to an end.  So she didn't actually see the boy.  Maybe he was a ghost.  Maybe he had gone suicidal... his bride wasn't that bad.  The thought of Trunks taking his own life, on the single account of who his bride was, caused him to want to laugh, but something else popped into his head before the chuckle could form.  Vegeta liked having the last say in things, and as it stood, Bulma was in the lead.  He would have to fix that.  _

            "You were talking to me... I thought you were going to ignore me, and hate me, and deny your obsession with me,"  Vegeta mocked, amusement evident in his voice.  

            "Because I love Trunks and I was informing you about him.  And I have no obsession with you.  Obsession and love are two different things.  One is a phase while the other is permanent,"  Bulma said quietly.  And for the first time, Vegeta pegged the tone of her voice.  It was lifeless, yes, but it was because she was denying to express her most prominent feeling.  She was hiding her love for him.  

            And for the first time, Vegeta was the one that felt weak.  

*

            Trunks moaned and collapsed on a rock to rest for the umpteenth time.  If this journey was meant to tell him anything, it told him he was _not good at long distance walking.  But it wasn't just his muscles that were slowing him down.  The sun had already set and he would stumble along tree roots and such.  It was beginning to be a pain to walk just for sheer inconvenience.  Trunks needed a spot to sleep for the night, and he wasn't too  keen on the idea of sleeping on the forest ground.  After all, that chipmunk had been able to see him, Trunks remembered, thinking back to the rodent that had stolen his food that morning.  The trees were becoming less and less compact, which meant the forest was thinning out.  He could walk for a bit more until he escaped the woods, and hopefully a house would be in sight which he could lodge for the night.  _

            Trunks sighed.  How did he get himself into this mess?  What had he ever done?  There was really no point in being bitter about it.  If this had happened to his father, Vegeta would have roared and fumed about it for days before setting out to relieve himself of the curse.  His mother would probably cry in self pity for a while before she too ventured out.  But it was pointless.  Trunks had time to do both on the road.  He cursed, and yelled, and cried on his journey.  He didn't want to waste any valuable time.  He couldn't do much of anything though.  He was stuck with this curse, and all the roaring or weeping wouldn't change a thing.  Yet it was what his instincts wanted him to do.  It was one of those times, where you just wanted to curl up and... well, die.  Escape the situation that was making you feel so awful.  It was taking all of Trunks' will power to shove the mess he was in out of his mind, and just focus on finding the girl.  But his will could only hold out for so long.   

            Trunks looked down at his feet and noticed that they hurt less than when he had left the rock.  Squinting his eyes tightly, he could see the ground flattening out, so less tree branches, rocks, and sticks were on the ground, giving him a smoother path to walk on.  This also meant the end of the forest was at hand.  Taking his eyes off of his feet, he looked ahead, and sure enough, the trees ended, revealing the world outside the forest.  He moved into a jog-like motion, all too eager to escape the forest, for it was getting dark and rather creepy, and he desperately wanted to find some shelter for the evening.  When he came to the boarder between field and forest, he stopped and let his eyes scan the surroundings for any sign of buildings or suitable structures he could lounge in.  

            "What luck!"  Trunks cried, his eyes catching on a tall building only a good five minute walk away.  It looked to be a barn of some sort, probably filled with animals.  But it was night time, they wouldn't see him, and the owners certainly wouldn't.  With a spark of determination, Trunks let his feet use all of their energy that had been in reserves and dashed towards the building.  

            When he got there, he realized there were no animals inside, which worked to his advantage.  He wasn't looking foreword to sharing his bed with a cow, or a sheep, and this also meant he could sleep in late without worrying of some horse getting excited and scared over a strange human.  The barn consisted mainly of some hay, oats and large bags he couldn't tell what held. Trunks reasoned that it was probably a storage unit.  This also worked to his advantage because the hay would give him decent comfort for the evening.  All in all, it was a great find.  

            Trunks pulled off his shoulder bag, and set it down where his head would rest for use of a pillow.  Stretching out his arms, he collapsed onto the hay and sighed with content.  His muscles needed this break.  Tomorrow, he reasoned, he would find a water resource to refill his canteen, find some food and then restart his journey to the Son farm.  He couldn't be that far away from it now.  His freedom getting closer and closer in sight, Trunks allowed his mind to drift off, and allowed his consciousness to fall into dreams.

*

            "So, Pan.  Your father tells me you met the prince,"  Videl said with a smirk.  Pan's mother had a habit of interfering with her daughter's life.  Pan inherited much of her beauty from Videl, and her conniving attitude as well.  Videl didn't want her daughter to stay single on the home farm forever, she wanted to see her daughter settled down with a man.  

            "Yes, mother.  I saw the prince,"  Pan said, already getting tired of answering.  It seemed everyone on the farm knew about her encounter with the royalty and wanted to know how it went.  The elders for the news on the farm, and the young boys for Pan's reaction to the supposed handsome heir to the throne.  "And mother, don't even start.  There's not point.  He is a prince and I am a... stable girl."  

            "Stable girl?!  Ha.  Pan, you are one of the richest girls in the farmland.  You're just short of being a lady.  If you cared, you could easily pass for one."  Videl let out a saddened sigh, and Pan joined her with one of her own.  It looked like her mother was going to go through her speech again.  "Pan, I just don't understand.  You have such a chance at being so elegant, yet you insist on getting all covered in dirt by working on the farm.  You don't have to.  You could help in the kitchen.  You're just making trouble for yourself.  Those farm boys always talk about you, you know.  One of them is bound to ask for your hand..."

            "Too late,"  Pan mumbled.  

            "What was that?"  Videl asked.  Pan looked around defensively.  She did _not want to tell her mother of the proposals she had received.  There was two ways Videl would end up talking it.  She could scold her and force her to agree to the proposal, or she could detest it and forbid her to work around them again.  _

            "Nothing.  I didn't say a thing."  

            "Yes, well.  Honestly, you could have a lord wrapped around your finger.  That you could."  She sighed in the sigh she always had when she put on a show. Pan knew her mother didn't mean half of what she was saying.  From what she had said, Pan concurred that her mother was suggesting it was time Pan look for a husband, and that she could do better than a farm boy.  Her mother sometimes just had trouble putting things into simple, kind words.  

            But Pan didn't understand.  Videl married a farm boy... in a way.  Her father, Gohan, wasn't as poor as the boys that showed interest in her, actually quite on the contrary.  Gohan was in line to inherit one of the largest and profitable farms around.  But even so, Videl had lowered her stasis to be with him.  She had been a lady at court when she met Gohan.  They had married out of love, yet she seemed to be pressuring her to marry for other reasons.  Pan was in no rush to get married.  She really had no thoughts on the matter.  She had never been in love before, perhaps if she were to one day fall into it, she might bring the thought of marriage up, but as for now, it was a foreign idea that she didn't have to deal with, despite her mother's encouragements.  

            The sun had set long before by the time Gohan walked in, finishing his nightly checks on everything.  Pan was just about to pack it up for the night, and was glad her father returned before she went to sleep.  Pan walked up to him, and gave him a huge hug.  

            "Pan,"  Gohan started, returning the hug, "I'm glad you're still up.  Because you were gone, I haven't had the chance to talk to you yet.  We have to travel to the North Capital tomorrow."  

            "Oh, is it that time of the year already?"  Pan asked, surprised.  Thinking carefully on the time of the harvest, she discovered he was right.  Every year they traveled there for business.  Pan used to attend with them when she was a child, but she hadn't been there for years now.  

            "Yes it is.  But you might have noticed, that normally we have Goten in charge of  the farm while we are gone..."   Goten had always watched over the farm, since all of the other Sons traveled to North Capital, and for the past few years, Pan had stayed behind to help him.  But now Goten was gone.  He had set off on his own a couple of months ago, in the next town over, where he started his own farm with the help of his inherited profits.  

            "... and since he's gone.  That leaves you.  Think you're up to it?  We'll only be gone a few days,"  Gohan said, already knowing the answer.  

            "Just leave everything to me,"  Pan said with a grin.  Gohan grinned back. 

            "I knew I could count on you." 

            "Wait!  Gohan, you can't... but... Gohan!"  Videl stammered, hearing the entire conversation.  

            "Mom, I'm almost twenty.  I can do this,"  she said.  Her mother scowled, and shot Gohan the 'we'll talk' look, that both Gohan and Pan feared.  Videl turned and headed towards her own room, missing Pan's giggle and Gohan's gulp.  "Night dad,"  Pan said with a peck on the cheek as she turned to head upstairs to her room.  

            "Oh, wait Pan."  Pan stopped in her tracks, and turned to look at her father.  "The door to the north-eastern storage was open.  No workers go back there this time of season.  Did you...?"  

            "No dad.  I haven't been there in weeks,"  Pan answered.

            "Must have been the wind or something,"  Gohan said with a shrug.  Pan copied his, and they both parted ways for sleep.   From her long journey that day, she should have fallen asleep quickly, but for some reason, Pan couldn't shake off what her father had said.  Why would that door be open?  With another shrug, she concentrated on convincing herself that it was only the wind, but made a note to check it out tomorrow.  

---

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	4. Devil with a Pie

**A/N:  Chocolate chip (par request) cookies for all you guys, and an extra one to _Aurelia Lothlorien  just because her reviews always make me laugh.  See chapter one for disclaimer.  _**

**Last Time:  Trunks gets a peek at everyday life for those that aren't prissy princes, Pan's parents leave her the farm while they go out of town for a few days, Videl mopes over her daughter's singleness, Bulma ignores Vegeta some more, and Trunks finds a nice barn to sleep in.  **

**"Devil with a Pie"**

The sunlight was beaming down on her through the open window, the change in light causing her to slowly lift her eyelids and wake up.  Pan stretched out her arms, feeling satisfied by the numerous cracks and pops that ensued.  Swinging her arms back in front, and letting them drop to the bed, Pan sat neither looking or thinking anything, merely waiting for her mind to catch up to her already awake body.  A few strands of raven hair blew across her clouded vision, and she had to take the effort to pull them away from her eyes.  Startled at the strands whipping across her face, Pan turned to see where they got the outside help to move.  Her midnight eyes landed on the window which was open.  Opened?  She always shut if before bed...  

            But vague distorted memories of her father slipping into the bedroom, and telling her they were off, opening the window, and kissing her on the forehead filtered into her still half-asleep mind.  With a smile Pan remembered they were gone.  She had the farm to herself... as well as the hundred some-odd workers, but today she was in charge.  

            And she had no idea where to start.  

*

            "Prince Trunks."  It was spoken in a statement rather than a question.  With a grin, Trunks turned to see the speaker.  The spell was broken.  Perhaps just finding the girl had been enough.  

            "Yes,"  he replied giddily, "I am prince Trunks."  The man before him nodded and stepped to the side so the objects behind him would become visible to the happy prince.  

            "I am under instruction to give these to you."  He waved his hand to show the gifts.  Trunks clasped his hands together, and started hopping from foot to foot.  Before him stood a _huge pile of... food!  Not just any food, but delicious looking food.  Apple pies were lined up with roasted turkey, fresh milk and steaming bread, all waiting for him.  Trunks let an excited squeal escape his throat, and dove foreword towards the food.  The pie was almost in his grasp when his hands were throttled away.  _

            A rough, straw-like object batted his eager hands away from his food.  Trunks was shocked.  He was so incredibly hungry that he felt like he was going to cry.  How could he be shown the food and then denied it?  With a puppy-dog frown, he turned to the holder of the batter.  But no one was there.  No one held the object, yet it still came down on his hands, getting more demanding and painful by the second.  He was too distraught over his lost food, which was now no where in sight, to pay any heed to the beating of his hands.  However when the object switched its victims and went for his face, he decided to do something about it.  

            "You!"  he cried, grabbing the straw from the invisible holder.  He growled and pulled on it, trying to rip it from his opponent's clutches.  The tug of war ensued for a dozen tugs before his adversary gave up, and let him have the weapon.  The sudden loss of pull made himself fling backwards, yet he sat up quickly to gloat over his victory.  

            "Ha!  What are you going to do now?!"  he cried in childish boasting.  

            "I'm going to get my ax if you don't wake up,"  came the reply.  Trunks stopped laughing and opened his eyes.  The sun was shinning over his nemesis, causing him to need to shield his eyes against the strong silhouette.  He glanced down, finding a broom locked tightly in his grip, and saw nothing but straw around him.  He looked up at his opponent with a pout.

            "Why'd you take my food away?"  he asked, sadly.  Pan raised an eyebrow.  

            "What?  I didn't steal your food.  I don't cheat, and I prefer the honest road in life, however it is obvious that _you do not.  What are you doing in our barn?  Do you think you can just break in like this?!  Just because you're the prince -" _

            "Pan?"  Trunks asked groggily.  She hadn't taken his food.  There never was.  It was just a dream.  This seemed to sadden him even more.  But-   "_Your barn?  You mean I made it to your land after all?!  This is great!"  Trunks cried.  He quickly stood up, causing stray pieces of straw that had been on his body to slip off and rejoin the large bail he had been sleeping in.  He lunged at her and grabbed her arm.  "Let's go to the castle!"  he said, marching towards the door to the barn.  He didn't make it very far.  _

            "What do you think you are doing?"  Pan asked, monotonous.  She planted her feet to the ground and refused to move.  Trunks sighed and turned.  

            "Look.  I need to take you to the castle.  I have to lift my curse." 

            "Your curse?"  Pan asked with an amused tone.  She shook her head with a sympathetic smile.  The prince had gone off the deep end.  He had trekked all the way from the castle with a 'curse'.  He was crazy.  "Yes well, I don't want to be cursed, so why don't you get off my property.  You don't own it yet,"  Pan said with a glare, thrusting her hand towards the door to show him the way and emphasize her want for him to go.   Trunks furrowed his eyebrows and stood up.  

            "No, you don't understand.  I have a curse of invisibility."  

            "That's funny, because I can see you pretty good.  Now look, my temper is doing okay at the moment, but I could lose it at any second.  Just leave."   Her delicate features were turned in a scowl, her broom poised in her hand towards the door.  Pan wanted him to leave.  He couldn't do that!  He quietly shook his head.  

            "Listen to me.  I - am - invisible!  Only _you can see me!"  _

            "Look,"  Pan started, the words forcing themselves from her clenched teeth.   "I've asked you to leave."  She looked towards him.  This was the man of her suffering.  The royalty.  He would be the one that would take away the farm; the home she had lived on her entire life.  He would, without a second thought, steal away  all of her memories and sell them off bit by bit with no regard as to what it was doing to her inside.  That was just the kind of person they were, and Pan didn't want to have a thing to do with them.  "Please,"  she whispered quietly.  "Just leave."  

            Trunks dropped his arms from their flaring position, and lost his demanding speech.  Trunks looked at Pan.  For the first time since he had met the girl, he chose to look and see who she was.  She wasn't just a farm girl, or the cure to his curse.  She had a soul.  His eyes danced over her pleated ankle length skirt, her worn apron, the woolen gloves with cut fingers, the broom she held; a farm girl - yet not.  Her raven hair, pale skin, proud stance, demanding voice; a noble - yet not.  Neither a noble or a farm girl seemed to justifly put a name as to what Pan was.  He couldn't put his finger on what she was, but it was neither noble or peasant... something all together different.  

            Her eyes were what set off her unjustified class.  Although they didn't captivate him at this point, or draw him in; there was something alluring about them.  They portrayed what and who she was.  Although shimmering with happiness, they cowered with sadness and hurt.  They fought with vigor and stubbornness, yet they were lost and afraid.  They were a complete contradiction of each other.  And that's what Pan was.  A contradiction.  

            Minutes ago, she was yelling, hitting him with that broom for him to leave.  Yet now she was begging him in whispers.  She was a puzzle.  One which he wished he had time to put together; perhaps when complete he would be able to see who she really was - contradictions and false readings down.  He could see who Pan was.  

            Much like she's the only who can see him.  

            Trunks shook of his train of thought and heaved his shoulders in a huff.  There was no way it was going to end here just because she wouldn't cooperate.  Was it that big of a deal to travel back to the castle with him?  "Look,"  he started, patience gone, anger returned.  "I have traveled all yesterday in these pathetic boots,"  he paused to dramatically gesture towards his torn footwear before continuing, "on little to no food, stumbling in the dark, being completely invisible, and I am telling you... as your prince, I am _ordering you to come back to the castle with me.  Do you understand?"  Pan quirked an eyebrow for a second, but then let it fall to a slanted position, a stubborn scowl reappearing on her lips.  _

            "I understand that you are a selfish knave and I ought to grab a kitchen knife, slit your throat and do a favour to the world,"  Pan replied, her scowl flipping upside down into an angry smirk.  Trunks seethed with anger.

            "How _dare you.  I am royalty!"_

            "A royal pain in the ass."  

            Trunks' brain clouded.  That was it.  There was no way that this stubborn, loud-mouthed girl was going to insult the crown any longer.  This behavior wouldn't even be tolerated by a courtier let alone a farm girl.  She needed to be taught some respect, and she needed it now.  Without a second thought on the matter, Trunks briskly raised his hand.  With a quick flick, his palm came in contact with her cheek, slapping skin against skin.  The force of the strike caused Pan's face to move with it, her furious smirk disappeared in a look of shock.  He slowly recalled his hand and brought it back to his side, his face still contorted with anger.   Pan, still shocked by the sudden swing, gingerly lifted her hand and delicately grazed it over the struck cheek.  

            She raised her eyes and stared at him.  Hurt, confusion, upset, fear, anger, all danced in her eyes.   Wordlessly, Pan bent down and reached for the broom that had been earlier discarded.  With an effort on her part, she managed to slip past Trunks without taking revenge by a physical punch or a mental jab, but simply walked on past.    Trunks watched in slight curiosity.  He prided himself in being able to judge someone's character at a quick glance, but this girl was becoming a real bother.  He couldn't make heads or tails of half of her actions, when he expected a yell, he got a whisper, a smile turned to be a frown.  She was just too complicated!  

            Trunks glanced around the barn.  Everything was in tip top order; something he had failed to notice the earlier night in the dark. It was becoming clear why his father wanted complete control over this farm.  Although the Son's managed it well at it produced an abundance for the country, they were simply too lenient on the people around.  They could pay much less for their help, and charge much more for the quality of their crops.  And his father wanted to make these changes.  

            Trunks reached to his back and dusted himself off of any dirt or dust that his clothing may have acquired during his sleep in the hay stack, then proceeded to pick up his discarded bag.  If Pan thought she could simply ignore him, she was wrong.  Dead wrong.  He was not going to remain this unknown, unseen prince.  He would drag her back to the castle unconscious if he had to.  With a nod, he turned back to the doors of the storage barn, intent on searching Pan out and ordering her to go with him.  He was surprised when he turned to come face to face with Pan again.  But she wasn't alone.  

            Beside her, was a young man, maybe a year his senior, dark hair uncut so long it grazed over his eyes, causing to wonder if he could even see through the locks, his posture slightly slumped, emerald eyes gazing around.  

            "You said there was an intruder, ma'am?"  he asked, his voice giving way to Trunks' earlier assumption on his age.  The man's eyes traveled to Pan as if waiting for a confirmation.  Pan blinked and looked over at Trunks.  She slowly nodded.

            "Yes.  Intruder,"  she said, gazing confusingly from the man beside her and Trunks.  The man seemed to give a slight nod, and took a slow step foreword.  A pitch fork clutched in his grip.  He was looking from side to side, attempting to find the person of whom Pan spoke of.  

            "Did you get a look at 'im?  Do you know what he looks like?"  he asked.

            "Yes.  Lavender hair.  Your age.  Dressed in blue..."  Pan said, her voice slightly fearful.  Pan gazed over at Trunks questionably.  Trunks was smirking.  "Can't you see him?!"  Pan shrieked, becoming worried as to why the man was missing the prince that was so obvious in front of him.  

            "I'm sorry, miss.  There's only you and I in here.  He must have run off."  he explained, and made a retreat to the doors, heading back to the work he was doing before being interrupted to search the storage barn.  Pan watched him go angry, confused and upset.  

            "I told you,"  Trunks said arrogantly.  "You are the only one who can see me."  Pan turned to look at him, her eyes unreadable.  She was staring at him, trying to find a lie in what he was saying.  With a failed sigh, she slumped her shoulders and gave into defeat.  "You see, all you need to do is go to the castle with me, and then I'll get this curse lifted."  Trunks readjusted his shoulder bag, approached Pan, and once again grabbed her arm and made a line towards the exit.  Pan shook her head harshly and dug her feet into the ground. 

            "I don't think so."  

            "What?"  Trunks let his grip go and faced her.  She wouldn't go?  She knew that she was his only hope, to ever be able to be curse free, yet she still refused?!  She was so incredibly selfish!  "You can't defy me.  I'm your prince."  

            "I don't understand."

            "What don't you understand?  It's very simple.  I am the prince.  You are a peasant.  You do what I say."  He watched her eyes spark up, and an obvious effort to hold back an insult that was forming by the way she clenched her jaw.

            "What I mean,"  she said, her voice straining until she got it under control.  "Is why am I the only one who can see you?"  

            "Well...  I don't know.  I was put under this curse and told only one person would be able to see me, and that I should bring this person back."  

            "And that person is me?"

            "Yes.  You got it, now let's go,"  Trunks ordered, once again latching his arm around hers and attempting to drag her to the door. Yet, once again she slammed her feet down making her body immobile.  

            "I don't think so."

            "What?!"

            "What's in it for me?"  Pan asked, a smirk grazing her features.  Trunks glared down at her and folded his arms across his chest; a pose he had inherited from his father.  

            "There doesn't have to be anything in it for you, because I am your ruler and I order you to come with me."  

            "Well seeing as you are invisible, and you're stuck without me, I don't think you should be bossing me around,"  Pan said, copying his stance, and folding her arms, however a delighted smirk was over her instead of the angry scowl that he possessed.

            "Fine.  If you come with me, I'll give you... one thousand gold pieces."  Pan raised her eyebrows and switched her face into a thoughtful gesture. She chewed on it for a minute, then shook her head.  

            "We have a good deal of money.  One thousand and...  you better offer something else,"  she said, her smirk reappearing.  Trunks' glare deepened.  How dare she!  She had absolutely no right to be doing this to him, yet what choice did he have?  None.

            "One thousand... and I'll make you a lady."  

            "What?"

            "A lady.  One at court,"  Trunks offered.  Pan opened her mouth.  If she were a lady she could find her family a new life easier than as she was.  Yet... no, she wouldn't help this pompous prince.  She silently shook her head, and turned to walk out.

            Trunks watched as her feet trailed along the boarded floor, small fragments of dust and the like softly sifting out of the way as her foot padded to the ground.  He was the most rich man (excluding his father) in the country, he was top of the looks, top of the power, yet... she held all of the cards.  There really was no way of ordering her to help him.  He couldn't.  There was nothing he could use against her.  He couldn't threaten her life, for then he would be permanently cursed.  He couldn't very well murder her family one by one, because she may totally turn away from him and well... he simply had no mad desire to run around and murder people in the first place.  He would have to get through to her.  Bribe her.  But with what?  He had already offered her money and class, yet although they sparked an interest, they obviously didn't ignite the entire flame.  But what then?  What would she want most?  

            "Your farm!"  Trunks shouted, the idea coming into his mind in a flash, and the more he tossed it around, the more he was sure it would work.  It did manage to stop her from her exit and turn to face him fully.  "I will give you one thousand, make you a lady, _and allow you to keep your farm,"  Trunks said, beaming at the brilliance of his idea.  He smiled over at her, and waited for a reaction.  _

            Pan shifted from leaning on one foot to the other, her head tilted slightly to the sky as if thinking or asking the gods for an answer.  Through a few minutes of silence, she finally reached a decision and gazed straight over at Trunks.  "Thousand gold, lady, and the farm?"  Pan asked.  He nodded quickly, his smile never ceasing off his face.  She hesitantly reached out her hand towards him, with a smile to match his own.  Trunks eagerly placed his hand in hers and they shook each others.  "Done,"  Pan said with a smirk.  

            "Excellent,"  Trunks agreed.  This was brilliant.  What was sure meant to be month long mission he had accomplished in a little over a day.  He could be visible again by midnight.  "Well, then,"  he said, turning to the door, "Let's me off."  

            "Uh uh,"  Pan said.  Trunks narrowed his eyebrows and turned back.  What now?  Her hands were placed at her hips, her weight rested on one leg.  "I can't leave now.  I'm in charge of the farm until my parents return, so you'll just have to wait it out till then."  

            "What?!"  

            "I saaaaid,"  Pan exaggerated, switching her weight once again, "my parents are off for the harvest, and I'm in charge.  I can't go with you until they get back."

            "We had a deal!"  Trunks yelled, his arms flaming in the air at the selfishness of this peasant girl.  

            "We made a deal on what's in it for me.  We never agreed on the time.  You are _lucky that I'll go with you when they get back, and not make you wait even longer."  _

            "And when will they get back?"  Trunks asked meekly, already giving into defeat.  

            "In a few days.  Don't sweat it."  She smiled and hop-skipped towards him.  "Give you a chance to see what real people do with their lives."  She said before stepping around him and scampering off.  

            "Perfect,"  Trunks murmured.  "Simply perfect."   He contented himself with simply staring out into nothing, eyes blank, arms folded, running his predicament over in his head, when a growl from his stomach interrupted his train of thought.  He glanced down and remembered he hadn't had a descent meal in two days.  He could go in search of the kitchen and sneak some food, but why live as a beggar, when someone knew he was the prince?  Granted she didn't think to highly of him, but she still knew.  Mind made up, Trunks walked to the door, intent on finding Pan and then some food.  

            Glancing around, there were many buildings to the Son farm, which would have made it a hard time for him to locate Pan.  He wasn't sure which building she would be working in.  But his stomach betrayed him once again with a low growl.  Trunks sighed.  He would have to go sneak a little something to hold off his stomach until he could track down Pan and get her to make him something better.  

            Whereas locating Pan would have been a problem, finding the main kitchen certainly wasn't.  The smell of freshly backed apple pie was stretching over the entire farm.  He couldn't hold back his smirk to see the workers groaning at the smell yet not being able to get their hands on any.  The main kitchen proved to be quite near by, and it didn't take long before Trunks was standing in the doorway of it.  There were a couple of woman, mostly between middle and old age, bustling around the fire ovens and the cupboards, cooking and mixing, creating delicious foods for the farm.  His smirk deepened and he rubbed his hands together.  The food being made revealed the luscious foods that had been presented to himself in his dream.  Fortunately this item Pan wasn't around with her broom of death.  

            Trunks quietly walked over to a table, careful as to not bump into anyone, and laid his cerulean eyes on a steaming apple pie.  He glanced to his right and left, almost as if force of habit, since no one but Pan could see him.  He pulled his sleeves down his wrists to act as protection against the hot pan, and carefully lifted the pie into his hands.  He quickly shoved it behind his back, his hands carefully concealing the pie behind him, and turned to the door to backwards it out.  However, he was interrupted by a scream.  

            "Aie!!"  Trunks froze where he was, tempted to throw his hands over his ears at the yell, but couldn't since they were full.  He glanced over to the woman who had yelped, and was curious and a little surprised to see her staring straight at him.  "There's a devil!"  she yelled again, her voice quite shrew.  At the holler of a devil, all eyes turned to where the woman had her outstretched hand pointing.  Trunks gulped; all eyes were directed right on him.   He tilted his head for a moment, trying to understand how they had seen him, because after a quick look behind, there was no one else the women could be gawking at.  When it hit him, he felt so utterly stupid he was glad that he was invisible.   If he was visible, sneaking the pie behind his back would have kept it hidden, but in his current predicament, they could see straight through his body and to the stolen pastry he held.  

            Weighing his options, Trunks could easily just make off with the pie and let the old ladies think their kitchen was haunted.  It would be better than talking aloud and getting them riled up even more than they already were.  However any thoughts of dashing away with the pie were shattered as a newcomer stepped in and blocked the doorway.  Trunks turned his glance and whimpered quietly upon seeing who it was.  

            "My lady!"  the kitchen servant who had first spotted the seemingly floating pie called out.  "Devil!"  she cried pointing frantically at the pie Trunks held.  Trunks turned around so he was facing the door, and was met with an angry scowl.  

            "It's not a devil..."  Pan started, all the while glaring at Trunks.  What an idiot.  He honestly thought he could get out of the kitchen with a pie... in full view?!  

            "But it's floating on it's own!"  another woman shrieked.  Pan glanced around the kitchen.  The five woman who were working for her were shaking slightly and were nervous wrecks.  She heard stories of people quitting work because of superstitious occurrences, she certainly didn't want to loose any workers, especially when she was in charge.  Her father would loose confidence in her leadership.  

            "Look.  I won't have any of this nonsense on my farm,"  Pan said sternly.  "Pie... drop,"  she commanded.  Glaring at Trunks expectedly, wanting him to drop the pie so the women would calm their hysterics.  However Trunks didn't even flinch, just kept the same expressionless face attached.  She narrowed her eyes and deepened her scowl before speaking again, "drop and I'll go to bake my own pie."  

            The cooking women watched in amazement as the pastry dropped to the floor with a clang, the contents splattering over the swept-clean floor.  They gazed to their mistress in awe.  Pan tilted her head, then turned away from the kitchen.  They looked down at the mess, and slowly got back to work cooking and cleaning.  

            Trunks looked regrettably down at the spoiled pie before dashing to catch up with Pan.  "It better be an apple pie,"  he commented when he caught up to her and was walking by her side.  She stopped walking and turned to him.

            "Are you an idiot?"  she asked, looking at him strangely.  "Can't you use that royal brain of yours?  You have to be careful what you do around here!"  Pan lectured before beginning her walk to the house once again.  

            "I was hungry.  What are you, the food patrol?  That's twice in one hour that you've denied me pie."  

            "Just shut up.  Because of you, by noon I'm going to be known  as some witch who has magic powers and conspires with Satan."  

            "You conspire with the devil?  Whoa, that explains a lot of things."  

            "Shut up!"  

            "You should keep your voice down.  People are going to think you not only conspire but you talk to yourself too."  

            "You think this is some game?"  Pan asked, turning and facing Trunks, her eyes searching his questionably.  "You can't just waltz in and control people's lives, prince or not."  

            "What's that supposed to mean?"  

            "Never mind,"  Pan said with a sigh, stepping into the house, and slamming the door behind her.  Not expecting the action, Trunks walked straight into the wooden door with a decent force.  Growling he opened the door and stepped in, looking around the kitchen he had entered.  Glancing around, he saw no sign of Pan, and his stomach protested again angrily.  

            "Where's my pie?"  he whimpered in the abandoned hallway.

*

            "I'm going to kill him,"  Pan muttered, collapsing on her bed, turning on her back and lazily staring up at the ceiling.   "The man is incompetent, intolerable... agh!"  she cried out, throwing her hands up in dramatic effect.  The open window let a cool autumn breeze in that brushed her ebony locks across her face annoyingly.  With a frown she slapped them away, energy drained, kept her hand upwards and let it slunk down above her head, too lazy to bring it back down by her side.  Every little thing that wouldn't have even caught her attention before was driving her up the wall.  All because of him.  Something about him sent an aura around the whole farm... it was intoxicating.  She wanted to work on the farm like she always did.  She wanted to prance out into the fields in her low cut dress and get a laugh out of the boys.  She wanted to be alone.

            "I just want him to go away!"  She yelled, voicing her stress.  

            "Then go to the castle,"  came a slightly muffled reply from behind the door.  Seconds later, Trunks walked in munching on an apple he must have found.  "But I want that pie first,"  he added, before taking a large bite out of the fruit.  

            "Agh!"  Pan screeched, reached for the nearest object and flung it at him.  He simply dodged it, and the wooden bowl dropped to the floor with a thump.  Trunks shook his finger disapprovingly.

            "Tsk tsk.  Temper."  

            "I'm.  Going.  To.  Kill.  You,"  Pan seethed out through gritted teeth.  He merely 'tsked' again and took another bite.  Pan clenched her fists around the blankets as she was sitting on her bed, facing Trunks who seemed oblivious to her frustrated attitude.  She waited a moment for him to speak.  At the catch of this, he finished chewing what he had in his mouth and turned to her.  

            "So... where's that pie?" 

            "Agh!!" 

*

            The sun peaked in through a crack in the closed curtains, causing him to squint and slowly open his eyes.  With a quick look towards the window, dispite the fact that they were covered, Vegeta guessed it was mid morning.  He lazily stretched his legs, but made no effort to move otherwise or even think of getting out of bed.  For some reason, his arms ached slightly and his body felt unrested.  He hadn't gone to sleep that late in the night, and he didn't recall doing any sort of exercise out of the ordinary.  However a quick remembrance of last night, and he could make a guess as to why he felt so unrested.  Bulma.  

            Out of all the years he had been with her, he couldn't remember any time when they had each forcefully not slept in each other's arms.  They always slept right by each other... it was just the way they were.  She understood that - there was no place for intimacy in public when they were the king and queen, but when they were alone, there was plenty of time.  And they had always taken advantage of that time. Not once... well...

            There had been the time when she was sick.  Bulma had caught a virus of sorts and was feverish for days.  At that time the healers had said to refrain from having any physical contact with her for fear of him getting it as well.  It had been undetermined if it was life-threatening or not, so they instructed him to stay away from her.  He couldn't even do that.  Vegeta let out a small chuckle at the memory.  He really was hooked.  He had stayed with her, following the instructions of no contact, but sharing the bed so she wouldn't feel so empty and alone.  Yet that morning he woke up with her entangled in his arms.  Not even a virus could separate them.  

            Yet this could.  Whatever it was she was so strung on about. Love.  Didn't she understand?  He showed passion and respect to her in his own way.  She couldn't demand everything from him; he was the king!  He turned his coal gaze over to his sleeping wife, always beautiful in her sleep.  Her unstyled hair lay strewn all over the pillows and her back, she lay lazily sprawled on her stomach, her knees bent, her arms flung this way and that, yet she was still beautiful.  

            With a sigh he dismissed the urge to brush a strand away from her eyes.  It was as if an invisible wall had been built between them.  He needed to find a way to break that wall down.  He simply could not run the country on his own.  He needed Bulma to turn to at the end of the day - something to keep the country running for.  He needed someone to lean on when things were going bad or unexpected.  Like Trunks.  His only child and heir to the thrown was missing, and he didn't even have his wife to support him.  With a groan he slumped back down onto the bed and turned away from Bulma and the persistent light.   He already knew...

            ... today was going to be a rotten day. 

---

And because I'm rather lazy, if you want to join the mailing list, you can just say so in a review.  If you choose to leave a review… nudge.  More cookies for all.  –Angel Eevee  


	5. Pan's Boyfriend

**A/N:  See Chapter One for disclaimer, as always, thank you for the reviews.  And, as it has been asked by a few people:**

**Where's Bra?":  Umm… quite honestly, I just didn't write her in.  I didn't simply forget about her, but when I designed the rough plot sketch for this fic, I thought it would be just too complicated to throw in another character to deal with.  So, it's more my being lazy I suppose that there is a lack of Bra.  But if you are a die-hard Bra fan and find it sacrilegious that she's not here, let's say she fell in love and married a handsome, lovely prince in some far off country and is living the good life.  **

**Last Time:  Trunks dreams of food, Pan hits Trunks with a broom, Trunks slaps Pan, (such a loving relationship…), Pan agrees to go the castle with Trunks (for a price, and in a few days), and Trunks tries (and fails) to steal a pie.**

**"Pan's Boyfriend"**

"I have had it up to here with you, Trunks!"  Pan hollered, one fist clenched to her side, the other stretched flat perpendicular to her forehead emphasizing her point, her eyes scrunched up, and her mouth wide to allow her voice more volume.  Trunks stood in front of her, his weight shifted to one hip, arms folded, face expressionless.  Although Pan's constant verbal war with him was rather amusing, he was loosing interest fast, seeing as it was becoming apparent she wasn't making him any food.  

            "And I, Pan, have had it up to here,"  he paused, mimicking the level of patience by the forehead, "of your constant lies!"  he shouted back, not minding if he yelled, seeing as if anyone walked in, they would just think Pan was off her rocker which would cause some momentary additional amusement for him.   Pan threw her arms in the air and sighed loudly and angrily.  

            "What have I lied about?!"  she cried, exasperated.  The prince hadn't even been with her for over an hour and he was already driving her insane.   Trunks unfolded his arms and made a show of pointing towards the apples on the kitchen table.  

            "You promised me pie,"  he said.  Pan let her jaw slip.  He was making such an argument over pie?!  She shook her head, mustering up her best glare and simply turned on her heel and left.  The prince could be so incredibly arrogant.  

            Trunks winced as the front door slammed, and he was once again left pieless.  He  turned to the fruit bowl and grabbed a red apple before hoisting himself to sit on the table.  What was that girl's problem?  He was being overly reasonable towards her.  He let the raven hair girl have gifts for going back to the castle, which they wouldn't be doing by her request for a few days, he gave her ample time enough to settle in and start that pie, he even dropped his first pie for her - but no.  No, it was never enough for her.  She shouldn't have any of those leniences.  He was the prince, she was the peasant.  He controlled her, well... he _should in any case.  But she was a rebel.  Aggravated by his lack of control in the whole situation, Trunks went over in his mind what he could do.  There wasn't much.  He could simply turn on the cold temperament his father used so often, yet the annoying, playful one seemed to infuriate Pan so much he decided to stick with it.    While at times he simply wanted to back hand her, if he kept his cool and kept snide remarks coming, the results were always better.  Much more amusing.  _

            Trunks stifled a yawn that worked its way up his throat, and with a start, realized how incredibly tired he really was.  Sleeping in that hay pile wasn't the most comfortable place to have been sleeping.  He could take a nap; it wasn't like he needed to be anywhere.  But any thought of snoozing was shattered as a low rumble came from his stomach, and he was once again reminded of his hunger.   His body demanded more than simple fruits and vegetables.  It needed substance.  Trunks have contemplated going after Pan and forcing her by any means to go and make him some food, but it simply wasn't worth it.  He could go back to the main kitchen and try to steal another pie, but if he got caught again, he would get an earful from Pan.  Better to just search around in the kitchen for something to eat.   Trunks jumped off the table, and walked to the cupboards where he intended to grab some food, when the door opened again.   He turned his gaze to the hallway and saw Pan, looking aggravated.  

            "I need to go out,"  she said, looking at him carefully, "I need to go into town, and... well, you can't do anything... I mean,"  she stumbled over her words before taking a pause to figure out exactly what she wanted to say.  "I don't want you causing any trouble here, and I know you will, so..."

            Trunks smirked.  So.  Pan didn't want him to be left alone on her property where she couldn't keep an eye on him.  She trusted him so much.  Trunks crossed his arms and leaned against the wall; waiting for her to ask what she wanted.  

            "So?"  Trunks asked with an eyebrow raised in amusement.  Pan clenched his jaw which made Trunks grin.  It was so easy to infuriate Pan.  It was like a game'-how quick can we make her mad?'.  It was very entertaining.

            "So!"  Pan yelled.  It was obvious that Trunks knew what she wanted.

            "Oh, wait,"  Trunks feigned mock astonishment, "you, want me to go with you, don't you?"  he asked, his hand on his chest; playing his role.  

            "No.  I don't _want you with me, but you're going to have to come along, because I can't trust you alone here."  _

            "What could I possibly do?"  Trunks asked, wanting to get her a bit more riled up, but he also wanted to know what she actually thought he would do.  

            "I don't even want to think about it,"  Pan said, her hands on her hips.

            "Ya know,"  Trunks said, recrossing his arms, "I think you just want to hang around me.  My looks are too gorgeous to leave alone."

            "I think you're full of yourself,"  Pan muttered, turning to leave, Trunks following from behind.  

*

            "How long is this going to take?"  Trunks complained, walking stride for stride alongside Pan through the forest.  Pan stole a glance his way and sighed.  

            "A little walk won't kill you,"  Pan muttered.  

            "Are you saying I'm fat?"  Trunks asked, in a tone that Pan wasn't sure if he was kidding or serious.  

            "I'm not saying your fat,"  she let out with another sigh.  

            "Ah, so you're saying I'm gorgeous,"  Trunks filled in, smirking.  Pan shook her head and continued walking.  

            Trunks didn't see the point.  What was the point of having a farm in the middle of nowhere?  Why put it somewhere that was a good half hour walk from town?  

            The trees were canopied over head, causing only faint spots of sunlight to seep through to the ground.  Light shadows played around amongst the trees, and rustles could be heard every so often.  While they sent Trunks on edge, they seemed to have no effect on Pan.  There was only a slight breeze that swept through the woods giving life to the otherwise heated forest.   

            Trunks took his eyes off the road and glanced towards Pan.  Today her hair had been tied up on top of her head, leaving only a few misplaced strands to curl around her shoulders, which were covered with a light tan cloth.  This tan dress was short-sleeved, showing off her toned arms - a complete disgrace for a lady... but Pan wasn't a lady anyway.  Her dress went down to her ankles as dresses often do, and it made Trunks puzzle how women could walk in them without tripping.  Despite the length, the material must be thin, because she showed no sigh of being overheated in the hot forest.  

            He took his eyes away almost as quickly as he had placed them, and gazed back at the road.  They didn't stay there long before they had returned to Pan.  He noticed her arms; casually swinging softly as she walked - they were empty.  

            "Don't you need a basket?"  he asked, an eyebrow raised in question.  Pan locked her dark eyes on Trunks without moving her head.  

            "A basket for what?"  she asked, matching his questioning look.  

            "Aren't you shopping?  I mean... for your errands,"  he explained.

            "Why do you think I brought you along?"  

            "You keep forgetting I'm a prince."

            "No I don't."  

            "A prince doesn't carry things for farm girls,"  Trunks replied, folding his arms, interested to see if he could get a rise out of her.  

            "And if you were a prince, I wouldn't make you,"  Pan commented under her breath, yet loud enough for him to hear.  

            "... I am a prince."

            "Not one worth any mention."

            "That was harsh."

            "Thanks."  

*

            Vegeta sat drumming his fingers mindlessly on the arm of his throne.  No one had bothered to ask him about anything - sensing his rotten mood.  He was sick of it all.  It was stupid.  Very stupid.  He simply wanted Bulma to get off her high horse and for his son to come home.  Trunks... when he came back, he would have to teach him a lesson or two.  The stupid boy.  Everything was so stupid.  

            Bulma's stupid accusations that he didn't show any stupid love for her, his stupid son that ran off to who knows where, to do stupid things most likely, that stupid bell that rang stupidly every time someone would be entering his stupid presence... wait.  No.  His presence wasn't stupid... but whoever was coming sure was.  

            Aggravated, he glanced up to see who had entered in on his solitude.  Somewhat relieved, he spotted it was only his trusted advisor, Koslin, and not some other idiot.  Behind him lingered a woman, of whom he recognized as the girl he had engaged to Trunks.  

            "Your majesty,"  he greeted, his voice as screechy as ever,  "Have you heard anything about the prince?  His bride becomes worried."   Vegeta, unaffected due to years of exposure by Koslin's otherwise screechy voice, gazed towards the female to the side.  She did on fact appear to be worried.  That would not do.  He didn't want to set his only son up with a worry-wart - perhaps he would have to find another girl.   But that didn't matter.  All Koslin wanted to know was the location of the prince.

            "You speak as if _I go out of my way to keep track of the delinquent,"  Vegeta spoke, interest in the conversation long gone.  But honestly, why would Koslin even think to ask __him?  He had no idea of where Trunks was, and if someone were to find out, Koslin would no doubt hear it before him.  But there wasn't even a clue to go by in his son's disappearance.  No one had a heard a word from him since the day before yesterday... no.  Bulma had heard him yesterday, she had claimed he had spoken with her.  Vegeta didn't know what to make of that.  As a whole, Bulma didn't prance around making up idiocy stories, yet it was unlikely that she heard Trunks but failed to see him.  Unless he were a ghost... which would make him dead, and if that were true, he was sure Trunks would have had the courtesy to speak up, 'alrighty, bye mom, oh, wait, by the way, I'm dead, see ya,' or something along those lines.  Yet he didn't.  No, his son was not dead.  _

            But he would be when he got home.

*

            "So, what are these mysterious 'errands' of yours any ways?"  Trunks asked, growing bored with the silent walking through the forest.  

            "I have to attend a meeting,"  Pan replied.  Trunks tilted his head, turning to look at her and raised an eyebrow curiously.  

            "You have meetings?"  he asked, smiling as a parent would to a child who made an odd statement.  

            "Yeah... why do you ask like that?"  

            "Well, I mean, what would you talk about?  Farmer Bob's cattle ran off again.  Let's all get together to track it down.  I mean, really.  We have meetings at home.  We discuss matters of the country.  What could you possibly discuss?"  Trunks asked, both walking slightly quicker upon exiting the forest.  They were now in the town itself, walking through the semi-crowded streets.  

            Trunks was swerving in and about the passing people, trying desperately not to be hit by anyone.  Surely questions would be aroused if someone walked into someone else who wasn't there.  Pan seemed oblivious of his troubles, and walked briskly and confidently just ahead of him.  It was obvious she knew exactly where she was going.  

            She stopped outside of a rather dusty building, and opened the creaking wooden door without a knock.  Trunks scanned the outside appearance of the structure with skeptic blue eyes.  Had he been in any normal circumstance, he would not be caught inside such a place, even in death, but he doubted he had much if a choice whether to follow or resist Pan.  

            She only threw back the slightest of glances at him before walking in.  The room was surprisingly well lit - open windows from the back let both light in as well as a refreshing breeze.  The room was unnaturally empty save for a long, well-scrubbed table which was in between rows of stools.  A wide assortment of people were already sitting down at the table, all of whom glanced up at Pan as she entered, though only a few held their gaze after discovering who the intruder was.   

            One of these people was a well-stalked man, his elbows resting on the table, his dark eyes following Pan's every movement.  One hand was rubbing his short beard, giving him a 'pondering' look, while the other drummed its fingers on the table's surface.  

            Another person whose gaze remained on Pan looked much younger.  Unlike the previous man's, the second's dark eyes were kind and gentle.  His clean-shaven face was set in a smile, and he ran a hand through messy black hair before rising to his feet.  

            It was to this man that Pan greeted immediately.  

            "Goten,"  she said, her voice carrying a comfortable tone that Trunks had never heard before.  The man greeted here with a strong hug before pulling out a stool beside him.  His hand lay gently on her arm and they began talking.  

            It was obvious to Trunks that they knew each other.  Perhaps very well.  Since Pan had not directed him to sit in a specific place, he chose to lean against the wall directly behind Pan and this Goten.  

            "So, how's my little Panny been doing?"  he asked with a wide grin.  Trunks frowned.  He even had a pet name for Pan.  Who was this man?  Trunks tilted his head to the side in thought, wisps of lavender hair spilling over his forehead.  

            "I'm alright.  Dealing with life as it comes at me,"  she replied, matching his grin, and casting a slight glance to where Trunks stood.  Trunks narrowed his eyes in further thought, only-half listening while the two held a conversation, Goten speaking animatedly, and Pan replying, still casting glances back at him.  

            Did Pan want him to notice she was close with this Goten?  Why?  To make him jealous?  That was absurd.  As if he, the prince, would be jealous over some peasant's boyfriend.  A boyfriend of Pan no less.  That would imply that he felt something for Pan, which he most certainly did not.  Well... maybe he did.  It was hard not to feel _something towards Pan.  Resentment, pity and angry all came to his mind.  _

            Trunks folded his arms and allowed a scowl to cross his face.  He wasn't going to let some peasant couple infuriate him.  Pan meant nothing to him except a ticket back to his cushioned throne seat.  And once he was back, he would never think about her again.  He would forget the spirited young farmer's daughter, and her bossy attitude and stubbornness that reviled his own.  He would forget the pout she made when she was angry, he would forget her deep eyes, he would forget... 

            And if he didn't naturally, he would beat himself to.    

            Trunks gently shook himself out of his thoughts, as the conversation turned towards his direction.  

            "I heard you went up to speak to the King about the old farm,"  Goten said, all light talk and smiles gone.  He looked intently at Pan who gave a small shrug and tilted her head.  

            "Yeah.  I met with his son,"  she replied.

            "The prince?"  

            "... no, the kitchen boy.  Of course the prince,"  she said, laughing and throwing a mock slap at his shoulder.  

            "...And?"

            "Well, it's not official yet, but he said he could keep his father's hands off it."

            "Really?  Wow, I suppose the prince isn't as pig-headed as I thought,"  he commented, which Pan met with a light snort.  Trunks clenched his jaw, and abandoned his spot against the wall, to get closer to the conversation.  He stood close to Goten, and was met with a glare from Pan.

            "But really, Pan,"  Goten continued, "how did you get him to give up their want on our land?"  He paused before his face melted into a look of being scandalized.  "Pan, you _didn't?!"  Pan blinked in confusion._

            "Didn't what?"  

            "You slept with him to get a bit of land?!"

            "Eie!  Goten, shut up!"  Pan shrieked in a whisper.  Trunks smirked at seeing Pan so flustered, also that her boyfriend would be so upset at the thought.  But did the idea of sleeping with him really make her so embarrassed?  Her face was a hot red, and she shot Trunks a look of warning, that clearly said along the lines of 'you ever repeat, I will kill you'.  

            "Of course I didn't sleep with him,"  Pan whispered.  

            "No, I suppose you'd never do that anyway," he replied in a quieted down tone.  He rocked gently back in his chair.  "Just as well anyway.  Wouldn't want to waste your first on some royal pansy who probably can't even put ou- ahh!"  Goten cried, stumbling foreword, his forehead connecting with the wooden table.  Trunks deepened his smirk and drew his hand back to his side.  

            Goten sat up quickly and looked behind him to see who had pushed him.  He saw no one.  

            But what Goten couldn't see, Pan could, and red half with embarrassment, half with anger, she grabbed Trunks' arm and dragged him to her side.  

            "Um, got to go Goten... just tell them our farm is fine, hope your head's okay,"  she mumbled quickly, marching quickly out of the room, leaving a confused Goten rubbing his sore forehead.  

            Only once Pan and Trunks were at the start of the forest did she turn to speak to him.  

            "I can't believe you did that!"  she hollered at him.  "You can't just go hitting people behind their backs.  That's low, even for princes."  Trunks shrugged.

            "He was insulting me."  

            "Get used to it,"  she muttered, marching stiffly ahead on the road.  "Because of you I couldn't stay for the meeting.  I'm part of the town, I should be there for those.  But nooo, I have to be here with you, because you're too much of a child to behave in public."

            "Excuse me?  _I act like a child?  You were the one that dragged me along to watch you drool over your boy toy in there."  Pan stopped abruptly and stared at him.  Trunks smiled to himself, sure he had struck a tense subject.  _

            "I was _not drooling,"  she replied.  _

            "You were certainly all over him.  Only talking to him, you wouldn't even give the other boys in there a chance."  

            "What boys?"  

            "There was one in there staring at you in the whole time.  See?  You're so absorbed in this _Goten that you don't even notice other people.  Next time you want to flirt with someone, warn me so I can vacate the premises,"  Trunks lectured out, eyes closed, and index finger up, imitating his father's advisors.  He opened his eyes to see her reaction, and was surprised to see her giggling.  _

            "You are so out of it,"  she replied, walking on.  

            "Nice comeback,"  Trunks retorted, catching up.  Pan laughed, and turned to face him.

            "Trunks, he is _not my boyfriend, nor do I have any attention of him being so."_

            "He may have different intentions." 

            "I can guarantee you he doesn't."

            "Oh yeah?  Give me one reason."  

            "I'm his niece,"  she said with a grin, before half-skipping up the path.  Trunks stared blankly at the spot she had once stood before running to catch up to her.

            "He's your uncle?"  he asked.  Thinking back, they did look similar...

            "Sure is,"  she replied, laughter still ringing in her voice.

            "You could have told me sooner,"  he retorted, arms crossed.

            "And interrupted your 'I'm making an ass out of myself' speech.  No thanks."

            "You are the most obnoxious, ignorant-"  

            "Yeah, yeah, I love you, too."   

*

            Trunks sighed quietly to himself, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand.  His elbows were placed on the table, for the first time glad he was away from the castle, avoiding his mother's 'don't put your elbows on the table - it's rude' lecture.  A strand of lavender hair had slipped from behind his ear and was hanging annoyingly between his eyes, the tip brushing his nose.  Had he the energy, he would have dealt with the hair problem, but he didn't feel up to swatting the strand away.  

            Pan had said she was upset at the way he had treated her uncle and had refused to make him anything to eat.  He hadn't really done anything bad to the guy... a little whack on the head never killed anyone.  But Pan wouldn't budge, however she also wouldn't let him go into the kitchens again.  She had not wanted a reply of 'Trunks the pie-stealing ghost' routine.  

            Munching on apples, bread and some nuts he found in Pan's kitchen had sustained him for most of the afternoon, but the sun was making its way below the horizon, and he was so very hungry.  Hungry for what his stomach had been groaning for ever since he had first smelt it that morning.

            Apple pie.  

            With much whining and complaining, and a lovely speech on why Pan was a liar, she had given in and stole some materials from the main kitchens.   

            He could now smell the sweet apples cooking in the oven, and with another sigh, he wished his nose would die so he wouldn't be put through the sweet torture of waiting.  Trunks had never realized how long it took to make one of those blasted pies.  Usually he could get a slice by calling a servant girl over, and ordering one.  A warm slice would be in front of him in minutes.  

            But watching Pan move around the kitchen, throwing powders here, and spices there, it was more of an eye-opener that perhaps not all foods grew on trees.  ... not that he ever truly thought they did.  

            Though he rather liked the idea of a Pie Tree.  

            Finally, the hair bugging him to a point of sever annoyance, he moved his cheek from his palm, freeing his hand to tuck the strand behind his ear once more.  Replacing his cheek in his palm, he turned his glance over to Pan.  

            "How much longer?"  he half-whined at her.  She replied by rolling her eyes.  Trunks managed a half-smile which quickly disappeared at that.  This had been his second real day at being invisible.  It hadn't been too bad, except perhaps the rude awakening that morning, the lack of pie, the boyfriend/uncle mix up...  but at least no rodents were stealing his food today.  

            Or they had better not...

            He cast a quick glance around the room to see if there were any ways any stray creatures could lurk inside and steal his pie.  The window was open, but Pan was right by there, and surely she would protect the pie.   Pan struck him as someone who didn't let anyone mess with her work.  

            A clatter from the counter knocked him out of his Pie-stealing Chipmunk theories,  and he turned to see a bowl on the floor, some contents on the floor.  Pan cursed lightly, and set to cleaning it up.  

            "Tsk tsk,"  he murmured at her.  "Not very lady-like language skills."   She scowled up at him, her ebony hair spilling over her shoulders as she moved.  

            "Don't give me lessons of etiquette.  I'm not the one with my elbows on the table,"  she replied hotly, standing up with the bowl and the dirty cloth in hand.  Trunks returned the scowl, but slid his elbows obediently off the table.  

            Trunks leaned forward to catch a glimpse of his pie, but couldn't quite see it in the fire oven, because Pan was standing in the way.  He turned his line of vision towards her and drummed his fingers softly on the table.  

            Her hair was a mess around her shoulders, but the style certainly had a certain charm to it.  She had abandoned some of her outer clothing as the day drew to a close, and now only sported a simple dress.  Trunks once again marveled at the peculiar simple beauty she possessed.  It was a pity she didn't have a personality to match it.  While the ladies at court were all soft-spoken and held pretty smiles, all Pan seemed to want to do was boss people around and throw insults at people.  While this did make for fun conversation, it wasn't the most dignified role a woman should have.  

            He wondered briefly if all peasant girls were like Pan, and there was an entire class of women that acted differently then the ones he knew, or if Pan was simply a class of her own.  

            Something told him it was the latter.  

            "Okay, your highness,"  came Pan's drawling, sarcastic voice, bringing Trunks out of his thoughts, "your pie i--is,"  she drew out, carrying a hot pan in layers of cloth, setting it delicately in front of him, "done."  She placed her hands on her hips and gazed down on it as if she were particularly proud of the pastry.  

            "Finally,"  Trunks murmured, grabbing his fork and making a dive for it.  Pan swatted his hand away.  Trunks had a mad urge to stab the fork at Pan - she was depriving him of his pie, again!  

            "It's hot still, you should let it cool or you'll burn your tongue,"  she said.  Trunks blinked up at her and nodded dumbly.  

            "I didn't know you cared,"  he replied as an afterthought.

            "I don't,"  Pan retorted automatically.  She turned and walked to the door, opening it to step out.  "I'm just making some rounds, I'll be back soon.  I want to make sure we don't have any other invisible princes sleeping in our barns."  

            Trunks smiled softly at Pan standing in the doorway.  The steam from the pie was warming his face, and making his stomach crave it all the more.  His blue eyes met with her dark ones.  

            She held his gaze, a second longer than was normal, and walked outside, closing the door, closing Trunks away from the world that could not see him.  

            His own gaze remained fixed on the door, his pie slowly cooling.  

---

This chapter took longer to get done than I would have liked, and I apologize.   Hope it was fine just the same. 

-Angel Eevee  


	6. Bed Battle

**A/N:  See chapter one for disclaimer.  I encountered a lovely block for this chapter, and am not completely satisfied with the way it turned out… so, if you find it lacking, my apologies, but it didn't seem to want to be written any other way.  *sighs*  For all those that felt Trunks needed a good dose of physical pain – my hat off to you.  If I were wearing a hat.  **

**Last Time:  The duo went to town, we meet Goten, whom Trunks mistakes as Pan's boyfriend, and most importantly - Trunks finally got his pie.   **

**"Bed Battle"**

Pan carefully locked the front door, checking it twice, to make sure no unwanted visitors paid her a visit in the middle of the night - animals or otherwise.  There seemed to be a slight ache all over her - her legs, arms, shoulders, eyes... the day's events were taking its toll.

            It would have been stressful enough dealing with the entire farm while he parents were away, but having to deal with the obnoxious stupid prince who couldn't tell a boyfriend from an uncle was just horrible.  Whatever God looked over her was surely chortling madly over her situation right now.  

            Pan considered herself a mild-tempered girl... well, no, perhaps that wasn't right.  It was more truthful to consider herself a collected-person.  Usually she could control her temper.  And by control, would be refraining from lashing out and clawing the offender to death, though she was not above fuming, foot stamping or a good yell.  

            Though Trunks was pushing her beyond that.

            Satisfied with the state of protection of her house, Pan turned to the narrow staircase and made the painful climb up the stairs.  The thought of her bed was most welcoming.  

            With nothing more than the thought of the soft comfort of her bed to occupy her thoughts, they once again drifted to the invisible Prince.  He was so insufferable, she really wasn't sure what to do with him.  She had to put up with his ways until she went to the castle with him.  It would allow her family to keep ownership of their farm - surely she could deal with him for that cause.  

            But all she really needed was some sleep.  With some shut eye, her patience would be replenished for the next day, and she would be more prepared for whatever idiotic thing Trunks would say or do.  Right now she was at her limit.  

            "You're just a peasant, you flirt with your uncle, I'm a prince, bake me a pie, blah blah blah,"  she mumbled under her breath.  She clenched her fists slightly, moving to open her door at the end of the hallway.  

            "I just need some rest, then I'll be alright.  Because I swear, one more thing from him, and I'll -"  muttering, she opened the door, walked in her room, and closed it behind her.  

            Sighing from the day's hassles, she untied her hair, placing the ribbon on her dresser.  Shaking her head slightly, ebony strands spilled over her shoulders and eyes, before she tiredly brushed them aside.  Stifling a yawn, she kicked off her shoes, and pulled her apron over her neck.  In routine motions she unlaced her dress, letting it fall to the floor, automatically untying each skirt without having to think how it was done.  That was the curse of being born a girl - you had to wear so many stupid layers of clothes.  She stopped only when she reached her garments - a short white slip, and tiredly took a step out of the pile of fabric that lay at her feet.  

            Dark eyes glanced down at the pile, wandering if she should pick each up and put them away, or leave them for the morning and give into her body's desire for a bed.  Head tilted, she twirled a strand of hair between her fingers - debating.  

            "Does the strip show end there, or are you going to finish it up?"  Pan jumped at the voice, her eyes quickly falling upon the source.  Sprawled ever so comfortably on her bed, was Trunks, blue eyes fixed on her, a smirk on his lips.  

            Pan seethed.  

            "I didn't know you wanted me so-"

            "How dare you,"  Pan interrupted him, taking the steps separating them towards the bed.  He had sat there the entire time while she undressed, never saying a word.  And he was in _her bed!  _

            She stopped a foot away from him, arms folded across her chest, staring down at him.  

            "Stand up,"  she ordered.  He complied, a smirk still lining his jaw, his arms folded across his own chest, mimicking her challenge.  

            Enough was enough.  

            "You shouldn't have pushed me this far,"  she whispered angrily, shaking her head.  His smirk disappeared and a questioning look glanced his features before she reacted.  Unfolding her arms, she brought her hand back and struck in one fluid motion.  

            The sound of her palm slapping his check resounded throughout the room, and with the dead silence that followed, it offered a most gratifying effect to Pan.  Breathing with released fury, she brought her arm back and smiled.   

            She felt much better now.  

            Trunks blinked, his face still facing where the slap had pushed it.  Slowly, he turned it to face her.  

            "What was that for?"  he asked.  Pan frowned.  

            "I swear I'll slap you again, I don't have the will power to deal with you right now, just go away and let me sleep,"  Pan mumbled.  Shaking her head, she stepped forward to walk around Trunks to her bed, but he followed her step and blocked her path.  

            With a slight glare at him, she moved to the right, but he followed her again, blocking her escape to the bed, and ultimately, peaceful dream land where she wouldn't have to worry about any stupid princes.  

            "Trunks, I'm warning you, _move,"  she stressed.  Trunks shook his head in reply.  _

            "This is my bed,"  he said pointedly.  Pan raised her eyebrows at him.  

            "Hn, actually, this is _my bed,"  Pan retorted._

            "But I was here first."

            "Argh!  Damn this, Trunks!"  Pan screeched, stomping her foot.  "I don't want to deal with you!  I just want to crawl into bed and sleep!"  she hollered, wildly pointing towards the covers behind Trunks.  

            "Well, that's fine with me, I'm willing to share,"  Trunks said, smirk returned. 

            "It's not up to you whether you can share the bed or not, because it doesn't belong to you,"  Pan seethed out.

            "You know, you're just wasting your own time.  If you would just take up my offer, we could both be peacefully sleeping right now,"  he murmured, taking a step towards her.  

            Pan watched him carefully through narrowed eyes.

            "Why aren't you flipping that I hit you?"  Pan asked, suspicious.  

            "I hit you this morning,"  Trunks recalled.  "If there's one thing I know about better than anyone, it's the art of revenge."  

            "I didn't slap you out of revenge."

            "Oh?"

            "I slapped you because you are an ignorant, pig headed ass."

            "Not very flattering."

            Pan clenched her jaw.  It was much easier to deal with a stuck-up prissy prince Trunks, but dealing with this smarmy drawling Trunks... she didn't know how to handle it.  And she didn't want to learn how to tonight.   Her eyes drifted to the bed, weighing her choices.  She knew she was right - it was her bed, and she was sure she could get it in the end, but it really wasn't worth all of the arguing it would take.  

            "Fine."  

            "Come again?"  
            "Bed,"  she simply stated, taking his moment of confusement to duck past him and into the covers.  They were already warm, and with a content sigh, she fell into the endless comfort.  

            Curling an arm under her head, she brought her knees up to her chest, blankets clutched around her, and let her eyelids droop over tired eyes.  There was a slight breeze that seeped through the opened window, which was comforting on the rather warm night.  Pan smiled to herself, rolling over to find that perfect spot before sleep.  Her arm flung out, landing on a hard chest.  

            Frozen, she quickly opened her eyes to see Trunks gazing curiously at her arm which was resting over him.  As if being burned by hot flame, she yanked her arm back, bringing it to her chest and sitting up.  Trunks propped himself up on one elbow and looked at her intently.  

            "Just because we're sharing a bed, doesn't mean you can have me,"  he commented mildly.  Pan shook her head quickly.  

            "Get out of my bed."

            "That wasn't the deal,"  Trunks said with a click of his tongue.  

            "Yes, well, having you around here at all wasn't in the deal."

            "I graciously offered you some of my bed,"  Trunks replied.

            "It's _my bed."_

            "So you can't be rude and force me out of it."  

            "It's mine Trunks!  Gah, I don't want you here.  I thought I wouldn't care, but I do care, okay?  I do not want some guy sleeping beside me."

            "That'll make sex rather difficult I'd imagine- ow!"  Trunks ducked as Pan brought the pillow down over his head again.  

            "Get out!"  

            "Never!"  he retorted, grabbing a pillow of his own, bringing it up as a shield.   "It seems to me that we are at an impasse.   You claim the bed to be yours, I got here first, and since sharing isn't an option for you, whatever are we going to do?"  

            They sat in silence for a minute, staring at each other,  sitting side by side in Pan's bead, the covers scrunched at their waists.  Pan was the one who broke the stare, turning her eyes to the window.  A grin broke across her lips.  

            "A contest,"  she whispered.  Grin broadening, she turned back to Trunks.  "We'll have a contest - whoever wins, gets the bed."  

            Trunks drummed his fingers on his knee.  A contest had potential... it would be fair as well.  Nodding slowly, he agreed.   Hopping over Trunks and out of the bed, Pan skipped to the door, with some new found energy.  

            "Then follow me, your royal pighead."

            "Now that wasn't called for,"  he murmured, following her from the room.  

*

            Bulma sat, composed, on the edge of the bed, silently twirling strands of hair around her fingers.  Her hair was let loose to flow down her back, and she had carefully chosen out the baby blue night dress that was supported, yet flowy - Vegeta's favourite.  She smiled to herself.  Just to spite him.  

            She had not seen much of Vegeta that day.  He had taken to trying to avoid her completely.  It had been a long day without even her son to distract her, and while his disappearance nagged at her, she remembered his farewell he had given her, requesting that she not worry.  She trusted Trunks with every measure of her heart, so did not feel the need to panic herself over his safety.  

            Though without Trunks to have conversation with, she had gotten to spend the entire afternoon walking amongst the gardens with Trunks' fiancée.  She admitted, the girl was nice.  She seemed at ease about Trunks' disappearance as well, and when the subject came up, she would smile softly, before tactfully changing the subject.

            Bulma half-wondered if the girl knew more of what happened to Trunks then she let on.  

            She began to mindlessly braid a few strands of hair, ignoring Vegeta's movements.  He was pacing the room back and forth, and back and forth.  She had noticed Trunks taking up the pacing habit, and vaguely wondered if Trunks had learnt it from Vegeta or if Vegeta had learnt it from his son.  

            As soon as she had stepped out of the changing room and made her way to bed, he had stepped in front of her and laid down the law.  

            "You are not going to sleep until this comes to an end,"  he had said.  She had shrugged, and taken her spot on the bed, sitting, and waiting for him to continue, which is where she was now, twirling her hair absentmindedly.  

            She was past her blatant ignoral of Vegeta.  You could really only pretend to be lifeless for so long before it gets depressing, and you find yourself slipping into the actual lifeless state, and the line between pretend and reality is smudged.  Today, she was taking a more carefree attitude.  If he wasn't going to admit anything to her, that was fine.  She was over it.  She could survive this, but she wasn't so sure about her husband.  

            Taking her eyes from her hair, she cast a glance over at her husband.  He was beyond irritated, and she found this saddening for herself.  She wanted so very much to throw herself at him, and kiss away whatever was making him feel stressed, but she couldn't.  She didn't need to do this for herself - she _knew Vegeta loved her.  But she needed him to admit it so her son could reap the benefits._

            It was all for Trunks.  

            She wanted Trunks to be happy so much.  

            Standing up, she let her gown slip to the floor, and took a few steps to the end of the bed, leaning on the rail.  The gown trailed past her feet, making a distinct swishing noise as she walked, which Vegeta heard and stopped his pacing to look at her.  

            "Just say it, Vegeta,"  she pleaded softly.  His dark eyes were narrowed, and he scowled at her.   "You know it, Vegeta, you do.  You've tossed and turned all last night, you haven't eaten, you aren't yourself.  And it's only been three days.  Please..."  

            Vegeta shook his head.    She took a step forward.  

            "Vegeta..."   

            He gazed at her wordlessly before taking the steps required to close the distance between the them.  His hands were on her arms, protectively grasping onto her.  His dark eyes met her own.  She wanted him to know - to know everything she felt for him.  

            Couldn't he understand it?  It really was simple.  She loved him, he loved her, Trunks picks his bride.  It wasn't worth all of this anger... but it was worth fighting for.  She would win in this, or she would fail at everything.  

            "I love you, Vegeta,"  she whispered, eyes avoiding his own, choosing to stare at the tip of his nose instead.  He made a low noise in his throat before pulling her to him, covering mouth with mouth.  

            Bulma wanted to throw her arms around him, let him carry her to the bed, and spend the rest of the night wildly making up for the past days of solitude.  She wanted to ease her husband out of whatever stress was harboring over him.  She wanted to loose herself right then, but... she couldn't.  

            With all the willpower she had ever called upon, she pulled away from him, shaking her head.  

            "You don't understand do you Vegeta?  You don't understand at all,"  she whispered, biting her lip, tears welling in the corner of her eyes.  

            "What don't I bloody understand?"  he cursed, the first words he had said in a while.   "You want me, I want you,"  he said, crossing his arms, traditional smirk gone, as if he was actually making an attempt to try and talk to her.

            "It's not about want," Bulma protested.   He closed the distance she had created between the two, arms at his side, traces of anger gone from his face.  His eyebrows slanted in concentration, his eyes rapidly taking in her appearance.  

            She had seen the look on a few select occasions before.  She remembered the first time she had seen it, while she was half-asleep with the exhaustion of pregnancy, and he had been lying beside her, staring at her swollen stomach.  

            "I'll be a father,"  the words barely qualified as a whisper, the same look of thought and sincerity on his features.  It was the look he wore... Vegeta would open up his heart... he had to... 

            "You need me... _I need you,"  he whispered, breath brushing her neck.  Bulma shook her head, hating herself for turning him away.  Vegeta didn't open up verbally often, but if she was in this, she was in it for one hundred percent.  Tears slid down her cheeks unnoticed.  _

            "It's not about need, either,"  she whispered back, his eyes on her.  "It's... it's when I'm old, and wrinkly, and ugly, and not good for wanting or needing... it's to wake up and see me as if nothing's changed.  To want to go to bed, just to watch me sleep... it's wanting and needing, when there's nothing _to want or need..."  _

            More tears followed, her voice was cracking, she was afraid of what he might say to her.  She loved him... what would she do if he truly didn't love her back?  

            "Vegeta...?"  

*

            She sat regally on the throne, legs dangling over the arm rest, one hand resting to the fall and rise of her stomach, the other's finger tips brushing the red carpet beneath her.  

            She was rather bored.  

            Her blonde hair fell around her face, shielding her eyes from view.  She had a mad urge to brush it behind her shoulders, but wanted to keep the small shroud of privacy.  She wanted her eyes shielded, so no one could catch the emotions on her face, and guess to her thoughts.  

            After all, she was supposed to be a lovely princess-to-be.  She should be proper, perhaps a little saddened at her prince's sudden disappearance... but still, she wanted to be able to walk freely around the castle without anyone being suspicious of her.  

            But who would suspect her anyhow?   This worked to her advantage, having no guards or spies wondering what she was up to, but all the same, she didn't have much time.   The prince would only be so long finding the girl who could see him.  She smiled to herself, wishing she could have seen his face when he realized that the girl Pan was the one to break the spell.  Yes, she knew that Trunks had found her, but Pan could not leave yet.  The girl had obligations.  

            But either way, she would have to hurry.  They would only be a few days in returning to the castle.  Her plan had to be completed by then, or it would have been all pointless.  And she had so much to do, with so little time.  She hated wasting it, sprawled on the throne, waiting.  

            Waiting for her master to come in and lecture her on further instructions.  

            Sighing, she turned in the chair getting comfortable for a long wait.  

*

            "And just where are we going exactly?"  Trunks asked, as Pan continued to lead him through her property.  

            "Well,"  Pan started, turning around to face him, smile on her face, walking backwards.  "We agreed on a contest to see who got the bed, right?   Which I don't really get, you know there _are other bedrooms in my house,"  she said, eyebrow raised.  Trunks grinned himself, but didn't reply.  _

            He marveled slightly at how the two of them had both been so tired only minutes before, desperately trying to find solitude under warm covers, yet now, at the prospect of a challenge, they were awake, and ready.   Did he really want the chance to show her up that much?  He had always been competitive, he would admit, but what did he have to prove to this girl?  

            He knew the answer, but became more clear at the deliberate focusing on the issue.  He wanted to prove Pan wrong.  He could shout all night to her how great he was, him being a prince, him having power, him doing... whatever.  But it was all talk and no show.  So far, he had not been able to get one up since he arrived at her farm.  Despite her class, she was able to always be superior in some way.  

            Even worse than this, for it was utterly wrong for a peasant to rise above a prince, and a female peasant no less, was the fact that he didn't mind.  

            Ever since he set out form the castle, he was being much more passive.  He noticed it in himself. Things that would have irked him on the throne, he let slip past here.  He wasn't positive what was making him act in this way.  It could be because he was invisible, and he had subconsciously just known he would have to be bend to his viewer's will.  Or it could be the overall sense that life away from the castle had.  There were no stuck up noses to deal with, no etiquette to master, no bowing, or nodding, or anything.  He could be whoever he was past all that.  Who he truly was would be able to be shown.  

            But for how long?  

            Trunks cast his gaze ahead of him, on the leading form of Pan.  A part of him desperately wanted to despise the girl, but that part of him was buried under a pile of reject holiday pheasants, terribly rotting.  Besides, it was much more fun to taunt and tease her until _she lost her temper.  Much less work for him as well.  _

            "Here we are,"  Pan announced, dragging Trunks from his thoughts.  He stopped walking, his eyes glancing ahead in the direction Pan was looking.  In front of them stretched a dark, sketchy surface, with light resting on some spots.  

            "What is it?"

            "It's a pool, idiot,"  Pan retorted, hand on hips.  

            "Ooh, a pool.  What are we going to do with a lake?"  he asked, recognizing the dark, rocking movement as the water, and the glowing further out from the reflected moonlight.  Traveling his gaze upwards, he could clearly see where the water ended, and the tree line began on the other side.  It wasn't that large of a water hole, though by the soft splashing noise, he guessed there was a small waterfall filling it, though he couldn't exactly see it.  The moonlight only brightened so much of the naturally made pool.

            "We're going to have a race to swim across,"  Pan explained, grinning.  "It's not that far, and really not that deep."  Trunks slowly turned to face her.  

            "You want _me to get in the water, and swim over there?"_

            "And back,"  Pan said with a nod.  "Technically, we'll both be going.  It's a race, see?  Whoever wins gets the bed.  Fair and square."  Trunks eyed the water wearily.  

            "Just for tonight,"  he conditioned.  Pan raised her eyebrows, but nodded in agreement.  

            "Fine,"  she replied, taking a step towards the water.  She reached down and began untying the boots she had slipped on before trekking from the house.  Trunks' eyes were on the water, his thoughts lost in its depths.  

            He was a prince, and a damn good one at that.  But around this girl, he couldn't seem to act like one.  But then, maybe he was just letting his true self- he had already been through this.  He didn't know what was going on, but the words of his fiancée rung eerily in his ears.  

            _You can't love someone without befriending them; yet you can't even do that.  You don't know friendship.  So, with this little spell, hopefully you will learn how to make and keep friends.  Then, you will be ready to love._

_            There was no way he could be friends with Pan.  They would never be friends.  They hated each other, didn't they?  Yes, she was a silly farmer girl with an unhealthy attitude, and he was the big bad prince, stealing her farm.  Of course he would be giving it back to her... but, no, they would never be friends.  _

            To form a friendship, there has to be some immense bond, a sharing of interests of having personalities just click.  But what was there to share or have in common with Pan?  She was bratty, annoying, loud-mouthed, she spoke her mind, she _could make good apple pie, but... he was a prince.  And a good looking one at that.   And when it came to looks, Pan was just-_

            "Ready?"  she asked, forcing him to tear his eyes away from the water and look at her.  He found his jaw wanting to slide.  Yes, he had seen her taking her clothes off in her room, but... 

            Pan began to tiptoe into the water, wading her way out, getting used to the temperature.  Her long hair hung all around her shoulders and back, her cloak left in a pile by her boots, leaving her in the short under-dress from before.  She bent down, cupped some water in her hands, and brought it up over her head, letting it rain down her face and back, shivering at the coldness of it.  

            And when it came to looks, Pan was just-

            She turned, eyes questioning.  

            Pan was just-

            "What's the matter your majesty?  The deep dark scary water making you go weak in the knees?"  Pan taunted from the water.  Trunks' eyes scanned the dark surface of the water, shaking his head.  His gaze fell back on Pan, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders and back, the water droplets twinkling in the moonlight, her garments swaying around her.  

            "No Pan... it's not the water that's making me go weak in the knees,"  he whispered before slowly taking a step out.  

---

*shuffles foot*  Leave me a review, please?  I'd like to know what you all think, want… give yourself a name, instead of just being a number on my statistic dial.   Luv and cookies to all.  

-Angel Eevee


	7. King Confessed

**A/N: **See chapter one for disclaimer. No severe plot development happening here, just some nice dialogues. Do enjoy.

**Last Time: **Pan found Trunks in her bed, and the two decided to have a contest to see who got to sleep in the bed. It was to swim across the water pool, and while Pan is wading in, Trunks is hating himself for admiring her. Bulma is desperate and her debate with Vegeta is coming to an end. Trunk's fiancée is waiting in the throne room.

**"King Confessed"**

"The water isn't going to get any warmer, you know," Pan called back to Trunks, who was standing at the every edge of the pool. His thoughts weren't directed to the chill of the water, but more towards the female that was standing in it.

He was shivering, not from the coldness of the liquid, because in all honesty - yes, it _was_ cold, but instead was shivering at the thought he had just had.

Him. The thought had been his and his alone. He had created it, truthfully he had no idea where it had come from... alright, perhaps he did know where it came from, because there was some truth to it - wait, no there wasn't.

He shivered because he was rather disgusted with himself.

Pan had been fun to taunt, fun to make angry, and even fun to mockingly flirt with - but thinking what he thought went beyond fun and games. For what he had thought, while his gaze was locked on the girl waist deep in water, beckoning for him to join her, was that she, of all people, looked beautiful.

Definitely not beautiful in the fancy dress and tiara sense, yet beautiful just the same.

And he should never have thought that.

He was a prince, and she was... Pan.

Trunks shook his head to himself. He had thought he could have fun with Pan. Tease and mock, and in the end never see her again. But apparently his mind had other ideas. Beautiful, indeed.

It would have to end. He could not be close to this girl in any way, for fear of having some awful thought enter his mind. He could not even start to think she was anything more than some ticket back to home. He couldn't even regard her as a friend, as his little fiancée at home wished him to regard her as. He could not, and would not.

He would not sink into these female games. Pan and his fiancée were in cohorts together, he was sure.

He shook his head once more, taking a step backwards and out of the water his feet had been in. Pan tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow.

"Aww, is the water too cold for his majesty's wittle feet?" she mocked.

"Royalty does not swim with peasants," he said lightly, no teasing in his voice.

"Trunks, we have to swim for the bed," she replied, confused. Trunks shrugged.

"Oh, you can have the bed. I never wanted it in the first place."

"Then why did you make me come out here!" Pan hollered back, not moving from her spot, but her hands were held in fists at her side. Trunks didn't answer, but turned his back to her and started walking back towards the house.

He didn't look back, though he desperately wanted to see what Pan was making of all this. It was a good thing, he supposed, anyway. He didn't know how to swim. Swimming wasn't exactly in the list of prince's accomplishments. He could horse-back ride, fence, hunt - sure. But swim? No, it was more of a peasant sport as a fact.

He wondered briefly how angry Pan would be. He then wondered why he even cared, and was pleased to discover that he really didn't. It had been acceptable for him to bend his needs to her request and wait a few days for her family to return. It was royal manner to show gratitude towards those that did him favour. But he had begun acting out of place ever since the incident with the pie.

He should have just taken the pie with him when he had had the chance. Did it matter that the workers would think the place was haunted? No. Did it later matter that they might think Pan was some demon witch because she banished a pie-stealing spirit, and then went on to talk to herself? Again, no. He was leaning to her will, and he should not be. It was not his right to do so.

He was a prince. It was time he started acting like one.

Pan gaped at Trunks' retreating figure for a few moments, before the reality of what was going on hit her. If stealing her bed had not been enough, he had dragged her out there (alright, maybe _she_ had done the dragging, but...), let her wade waist deep in the cold water and then just walked away from it. This, unsurprisingly did not bode well with her.

"You!" she hollered, marching out of the water, pausing only a second to grab her discarded cloak and roughly bring it around her shoulders. Her angered stomping quickly caught up to Trunks' lazy stroll towards the house. She stepped in front of him, placing a hand to his chest to stop him from walking any further.

"_What_ are you doing?"

"I'm going to go to sleep. It's late. And get your hand off me," he replied, emotionlessly, removing Pan's hand himself and stepping around her to continue to walk inside. He half expected a violent act from Pan to regain his attention, but it was a quiet voice that made him stop in his tracks.

"Why are you invisible?" she asked, so quiet it was only above a whisper. He stopped and turned to face her, though made no move to answer her question. Her dark eyes were scrunched in concentration, roaming over his face, into his eyes - trying to find an answer that he was not verbally giving out.

"Why are you invisible?" she asked again. Trunks frowned slightly.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," Pan replied immediately. "If I have to deal with... with all of this, I need to know why."

"I'm a prince, I don't ha-"

"I don't care," Pan interrupted, "what you do or don't have to do."

Her stare was penetrating through all of the walls he had clumsily rebuilt around himself moments ago. Her hands were gripping the fabric of her cloak around her shoulders, her face set in an expression he hadn't really seen before. It wasn't angry or impatient, though not cheerful... it was a simple genuine curiosity. And a determination to see that curiosity through to the end.

Trunks sighed.

"Because it's earth magic," Pan said slowly. Trunks raised his eyes from the ground where he had let them drop and raised an eyebrow.

"Earth magic?" he inquired, interested if Pan knew anything more than he did about the curse laid on himself. Pan shook her head almost impatiently, throwing off the importance of her statement.

"It just means... it's simple, light... almost innocent magic. It wasn't done with the intention to harm. That's why I want to know... why... and who?" Trunks tore his focus from Pan and chose to stare vacantly at the reflecting water past her shoulder.

Innocent magic? No intention of harm?

Almost numbly in thought, he walked past Pan back towards the pool. With little grace he sat down by its edge, watching the surface silently. He had, truthfully, wondered what the purpose of this whole charade was. She had said it was to teach him love, but... what if there was an alternative motive? In all honestly, who walked around putting spells on people to teach them things they had no use of?

But, she must have thought he had some use for this - love. But how could he be sure? What did his fiancée really want? Could Pan know...?

He made a half attempt to turn to face Pan, surprised to find that she had followed him to the pool's edge and had taken a seat down beside him. Some strands of her hair were beginning to curl in tiny ringlets from the exposure to water, slipping from her otherwise flat hair. The complete casualness of her appearance, the cloak still pulled tightly around her, eyes peering from underneath clear eyelids, gave off an inviting atmosphere for a person.

He marveled how seconds before he had wanted to keep as far away from Pan as possible, and now he wanted to confide in her. It was an odd and new feeling for him to actually want to seek out the trust and advice for something purely personal. A part of him wasn't sure if he liked the idea of it all. The other part told him he didn't care.

"It was the girl. The girl my father chose for me to marry," Trunks said, facing Pan. She raised her eyebrows slightly, her lips turning up a bit. Trunks frowned. "What?"

"Your fiancée cursed you? I marvel at your popularity."

"Look, if you're going to-"

"Okay, okay," Pan said, holding up her hands in defense. "Go on. Your fiancée."

"Yes," Trunks said, looking at her cautiously for signs that she would make any more smart comments while he was talking to her. "She said that... well, that she didn't want to marry me if I would never love her."

"How does she know you'll never love her?" Pan asked innocently.

"Because I told her I wouldn't."

"Oh." There was a pause while Trunks waited to be given permission to continue on, and was slightly surprised when she didn't grant him it, but instead asked him another question. "How do _you_ know you'll never love her?" Trunks blinked, before staring at Pan for a moment.

"I... well, it's what I said at the time. I really don't know. I mean, royalty... they're not supposed to fall in love. We're just supposed to rule and give authority. We are defined by our position - we have obligations. The country doesn't need a ruler who will put a woman in front of everyone else's well-being." Pan tilted her head at this; frowning.

"Maybe..." she said.

"You disagree?"

"Well... yes and no. I, personally, disagree. It's like anything, really. Take my father. Some people may say that he could run a more productive farm, that makes more money or what not, if he did not care so much for his family. If he did not take a week here and there off the farm to go on trips with my mother - just because he loves her. If he did not spend endless hours when I was a child, teaching me to ride a horse, swim and run as fast as I could. If every decision he ever made, wasn't guided by how it would affect his family. However... I know better.

"I know that, while yes, it is a life-long commitment to love, and that everything my father does, reflects his will towards my mother and myself; I also know that he wouldn't be where he was today if not for us. I don't mean that in a selfish way, it would be the same with whatever family he might have had. The love we all share, backs him up, it keeps him living from day to day. I mean, he wakes every morning to see my mother sleeping beside him. It's what he, essentially, lives for. Without love, he would be living for material things... money, land... whatever. You can only look forward to each new day with those things in mind for so long before the world begins to become shallow and empty.

"A life, without love, isn't a life at all," Pan lectured, eyes fixed on the lake, talking rather quickly, and at such length Trunks was beginning to wonder how she talked so evenly without gasping for breath. She turned to him, with a slight guilt in her eyes for her speech.

"But... I don't think I can disagree. I am not, obviously, royalty. I'd like to think that the same conditions of love apply to everyone, but to completely honest, I'm just not sure. So... well, sorry, go on."

He stared at her for a moment before casting his lips into a small look of amusement.

"It must be tiring to run around all day with that ideology running through your head. Doesn't it tire you?"

Pan only smiled in response, raising her eyebrows to show he could continue.

"She said I would stay invisible to everyone except one person, whom I had to find," he explained, paused, and pointed. "That would be you. And that I should bring you back to the castle to lift the spell. It's... well, she said there was no way I would love her when I didn't know what love was. She wanted me to learn 'friendship'," he brought his hands up, bending his fingers in the rabbit ear formation, to show the quote of the word 'friendship', "first, and then I could go beyond that." He blinked rapidly, turning to face Pan. "Apparently," he added as an afterthought.

"Apparently," Pan replied, eyebrows raised. "So, let me get this straight. She sent you to find me, so that you'd learn friendship love with me, so that later you could learn the romance love with her?"

"Umm... I guess so."

Pan laughed.

"Ah, yes, that was a brilliant plan, seeing how well you and I get along with each other," she said, through small giggles. Trunks shrugged.

"I think she chose you because she knew you hated me."

"I don't _hate_ you," Pan replied. "Per say."

"Per say?" he asked, eye brow raised.

"Well... it's like you're two people. There's the snobby prince I met the first time I saw you... the one I... well, _dislike_...and there's another person. One that is hidden by walls of annoyance and sarcasm. You have defenses to hide this person."

"What person? It's only me in here," Trunks said, pointing vaguely up at his head. Pan shook her head slowly, the few loose curls slipping from behind her back to in front of her shoulders.

"The person who sits with me by a pool and talks quite humanly and rationally, is not the same person that turned me away at his castle," Pan replied. She turned her face in front of her, gaze fixed back on the water, as if she didn't really expect a reply from him, knowing she was in the right. That was fine with Trunks, he didn't feel much like thinking up a reply for her anyway. He followed her gaze to the water and let his mind become unfocused.

His feet were spread out in front of him, leaning backwards on his straight arms. There was only a slight breeze - just enough to sweep by every once and a while and brush thin lavender hair across his face - tickling his nose as it went.

Pan had her knees brought up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting between her two knees. The breeze had much the same effect, and quite like Trunks, she was letting the wind have its way with her hair, brushing it over her face, partly obscuring his view of her features.

At length, he turned to look at her fully, blue eyes willing her to turn his way. Feeling the strong stare of someone, she turned and looked questioningly at Trunks.

"You're the same way," he said suddenly, though in a tone that said he had, in fact, been thinking about it during the momentary silence.

"What same way?" Pan asked, resting her cheek on her arms, her face permanently held in a position to face Trunks.

"With the two people. This girl here, who inquires of a poor invisible Prince, is _not_ the same girl who stormed from my castle, threatened me, annoys me, tricks me, hits me with brooms, denies me food, slaps me... shall I continue?" he asked, smiling in an amused fashion. Pan was expressionless, not obviously amused as he was, though not angered by his comments just the same.

"We all react accordingly to those around us," she said softly, then closed her eyes. He tilted his head at her response. React accordingly? Surely she was not suggesting that she only acted the way she did because of something _he_ did or did not do? But, in her favour, it could be true... he had no problem blaming his annoying behaviour on her - he only did it to make her mad. It was amusing to see her angry. She was the most alive then... so he had thought. There was definitely a new twist to Pan, as the quiet little girl with her feet pulled up close, her hair curling around her and her eyes looking off to the distance to a place where no one would see even if they looked.

His arms were beginning to cramp up from leaning backwards on them, so with a pained satisfaction that came from the sound of his bones cracking as he took his body's pressure of them, he lied down slowly on his back. Eyes cast upwards, he gazed at the sky.

He was almost immediately surprised with what he saw. It wasn't often that he really ever looked at the sky as a whole, let alone at night. It was a brilliant shade of navy blue, with tiny speckles of light dotting across it. Like a wide spread of expensive fabric, with scissor holes cut throughout it and held up to the light. They flickered down at him, as the wind crept by, and the distinct smell of nighttime filled the air.

It was almost unsettling. He desperately yearned for his warm, overstuffed bed back at his castle, yet at the same time, was captivated by the simple wonder of the heavens above him and the world on either side.

"I told you something..." Trunks whispered, eyes still fixed on the stars. Pan opened her eyes partly and looked at him.

"Pardon?"

"I spilt a little part of me. Is it not fair for you do the same?"

"I don't have some crazy lover's spell on me, Trunks," she replied, her voice creeping towards laughter.

"I know," he answered shortly. "I mean, I took the time to confess something about me, how about you do the same? A secret for a secret."

There was a stiff, yet not uncomfortable silence that hung in the air for a few moments, while neither of them made any move to answer. In the end, Pan sighed, and joined Trunks on the ground by uncurling her legs and lying flat on her back.

"A secret..." she whispered, more to herself than to Trunks. "Every girl dreams of her wedding," she began, softly.

"Ooh, let me guess. Long white dress, diamonds and love sonnets?" he asked, smirking. "You girls are so unoriginal," he added to himself. Pan glared lightly.

"If you don't want to know..."

"Oh? Is there more to it than that?"

"I don't care about the dress. Or the diamonds... I want to walk the aisle towards a man I do not love," she said, nodding her head as if confirming what she was saying. Trunks' eyebrows shot up and he propped himself up on one elbow to get a better look at her face. His eyes searched it quickly for any signs of playing him for humor.

"Are you joking? You just made a nice gallivanting speech on how people need love," Trunks said in half astonishment.

"I know."

"So... you don't believe in it?"

"When did I say that?"

"You said you don't want to marry for love," he replied. Pan shook her head.

"I said I want to walk the aisle to someone I do not love."

"... yeah. So you aren't marrying for love."

"Who said I was marrying him?"

"What? Pan, you aren't making sense," Trunks almost whined.

"I want to fall in love, and be married off to another," she said, not noticing Trunks grow fidgety beside her. He was beyond confused, and was beginning to wish he hadn't asked her for a secret. "And then, just as it comes to the right part, the one I love will charge in with '_I object, I object, I shall not hold my peace, this girl must be mine. I love her, oh please, marry me.'_. And I can dash away from the nobody and into the arms of my love..." she said softly, taking a moment to glance at Trunks. He was staring blankly at her. "It's for the terribly romantic side of me, you see," she added. Trunks nodded dumbly.

"Why would any girl want that? I don't understand."

"I know," she said with a sigh. "I didn't think you would. But trust me, it's so intensely dramatic and memorable. You could be the most stubborn girl ever, and you'd still want a boy to show his love for you to the world... that's what it is, you see. It doesn't take much courage to stand before a priest and say '_I do_', but to waltz in in front of everyone, _knowing_ there's a possibility that she'll just scoff at you and keep on getting married to the man beside her. _Knowing_ that you'll walk out either humiliated to the point of no return or with a girl on your arm... it's the risk they'll take you see? It's just... romantically heroic," she finished, her eyes closed again. Trunks blinked, and smiled.

"Who knew you had such a girlish whim in you?" he asked, rhetorically.

"If secrets could kill," she murmured softly. He tilted his head to the side, at her soft voice. Wondering slightly at her sudden even breathing. Trying not to laugh, he leaned over to Pan.

"Are you asleep?" he asked quietly. He got no reply. Leaning in further, he brought his mouth to her ear. "Pan?" he whispered. Her face scrunched slightly, and she turned over on her side - away from him, moaning softly while doing so. Trunks couldn't keep in a chortle at the ability for the girl to be talking animatedly one minute and the next conked out in sleep. On the cold ground no less.

He cast his eyes back towards the house, which he knew would be warm and much more comfortable than the ground out there. But it was such a walk for so late at night. And taking a glance at the girl beside him, he was reminded that while she may be the annoying farm girl that probably has too much to say than is good for her - she was still just a girl. And it would be beyond dishonourable for him to leave her outside, asleep, for the night. He vaguely thought of waking her so they could both go inside, or perhaps simply carrying her in himself.

But in the end, he opted to just stay put, and dropped to the ground, his eyes once again upon the star filled sky, and the only noise heard was the occasional rustling of leaves as the wind passed, the small trickle of water from the pool, and the rhythmic breathing of the girl slumbering less than an arm's length away.

* * *

She was woken rudely to someone harshly shaking her shoulders, causing her hair to slip this way and that, before she became annoyed and pushed the attacker away. 

"I was asleep," she pointed out needlessly.

"I know," came the reply. Narrowing her eyes, she sat up straight on the throne where she had fallen into a light doze waiting for her master to show up.

"Well, you were late," she said, her lower lip pouting. His eyes remained in a narrowed position as she ran a finger through her long blond hair in attempts to make it somewhat presentable.

"I had business elsewhere, girl," he replied.

"Girl this, girl that," she mimicked, holding her hair over her shoulder. "It wouldn't kill you to use my name, you know."

"I'm not stupid, _girl_," he empathized, gaining a scowl from her. "You're name is the hold that I have over you. If I were to say it, it would let you go free of our little contract."

"I wouldn't call it a contract," she said almost with boredom. "It's more, you think you're supreme ruler, and I'm just the little wench you send around to do your bidding."

"Yes, well, that little _wench_ as you deem yourself hasn't been doing my bidding at all. You were supposed to marry the prince. You are under contract to do as I say. I do not understand how you could have disobeyed me."

"Don't think too long. I didn't disobey you - I'm still going to marry the prince."

"But he's missing!"

"Yes... yes, he is," she said, almost fondly, casting stormy blue eyes to the other side of the throne room, avoiding the angered look from the man in front of her.

"You must have had something to do with it. You manipulated the rules of the contract somehow, didn't you? Didn't you?" he cried, almost shouting.

"Perhaps," she admitted quietly. "It doesn't matter much... don't get your robes in a knot. He'll be back in a few days."

"A few days?"

"Yes... I'd say... the day after the day after tomorrow."

"... in three days?"

She shrugged. "I suppose. Yes."

"You only delayed me what... four, five days? Was it really worth all that trouble, girl? Do you really hate me so much to do these things just to annoy me?"

"You've never given me a reason to like you," she said, calmly, gazing straight at him this time.

"Don't think your little trick will go unpunished," he said, deadly serious. She did not take her eyes of him - quite prepared to take whatever pain he would throw at her. It would be worth it in the end. When all of this was over, and Trunks was back. It would have been worth it. It just had to be.

* * *

Bulma stared, mouth gone horribly dry as she waited for her husband to reply. She had poured out her heart, her mind... everything she believed in about their relationship, and she just needed the words, telling her that he felt the same way. The charade was over - it was time to deal the big cards out now. This was it. Everything lay with this one last roll of the dice. 

"Vegeta...?" she whispered again, a much more prominent plea in her voice. The urge to just give up the hope of him ever saying it, and to just crumble to the floor and sob was so overwhelming. Her knees were already beginning to fold, and she had no idea what force was keeping her on her feet, facing her husband.

"It's wanting and needing when there is nothing _to_ want or need..." he repeated, so very softly, that she had to physically make an effort to stop her knees from shaking so she could divert all power to listening instead of trying to stand up straight.

"Is it not being able to function properly through a routine day, without you? Is it connecting every little thing in life to you? Is it thanking the Gods I don't even worship that I know you? Is it a constant need? A constant desire? Not for my own, but to catch a smile? To do something right in life, and do it for the soul purpose that you'll be proud... is that what your love is?"

Bulma stared at him wide eyed. He spoke, his face rather expressionless, eyes staring back into her own, telling so much more than what his face portrayed. She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat.

"That's what love is, Vegeta," she whispered, hoarsely.

"Then it has always been there... always."

A silence trailed throughout the room, as he waited for a reply from her, eyes still focused directly on her own. She, in turn, was looking back at him, but not seeing him - tears blurring her vision. Her knees were shaking so much that they were hitting together, the vibration running up her spine and making her tremble slightly all over.

She had to savour this. She had to relish it. He never spoke to her like this. He did not verbally speak his emotions. He showed them through his actions, or a simple hold, a glance, a cocky smirk. He only placed words to emotions when she needed him to... like now. Had it really mattered all that much? She should have known - she _did_ know. His love was there, as he said, always. Suddenly, the whole fight seemed so meaningless. The only thing holding her to her place was the core of their dispute. The very center, the line that opened the play, the action that launched the two in a battle ground of both avoidance and annoyance.

Her only son.

But Vegeta was intelligent, amoung other things. He did not blindly acknowledge his wife needing to hear those words. She wanted to hear them as much as she thought he needed to hear them from his mouth. She wanted him to admit that he loved her, so that in turn, he would admit it would be good for Trunks to need the same.

He knew this, and as seeing his wife, shaking before him, blinded by tears, and needing to be in his arms so bad, he wondered how they both remained where they stood - and he answered her.

"Yes, I need it," he spoke, knowing as well as she that those words may never be verbally spoken again. "And I think Trunks needs it to."

Bulma had won. She had won what she had set out to do - to insure the future happiness of her little boy. She had won an important battle over her stubborn husband. She had heard him confess his feelings in a way rarely done.

But she didn't care.

Letting a built up sob escape from her throat, she allowed her knees to finally give in, shaking and shivering in Vegeta's catching arms. To have him hold her, assure her, just _be_ there. It was over, and she could love him freely once again.

_That_ was all she cared about.

---

Cookies for you, reviews for me.

Trunks can have a pie.

Angel Eevee


	8. Swimming Lessons

**A/N: **See chapter one for disclaimer. It was asked last chapter (by Pannygirl, it so happens) if I got 'stuff' from the movie _Ever After_. I know when I plotted this fic, I didn't have that movie in mind, but the last chapter, it appears I did. I think I wrote Pan's spiel about love after watching that movie with my mom as a 'chick flick night'. Consequently, her line 'a life without love, isn't a life at all' which was generally a basis for the entire speech, was not mine, and do not wish to make it appear so. (I only stole that line, not the entire two paragraph or whatever speech, by the way). Thanks to Pannygirl for directly pointing it out, that line sounded familiar, because it was. On that note, _Ever After_ is a lovely sappy movie. Go see it if you have not. And on a completely different note, on Nov. 1 we had our first snowfall, and it hasn't left since.

**Last Time: **Pan ranted about love and other things, the two shared a lovely pool side conversation, Trunks' fiancée angered her master, and Vegeta finally admitted to Bulma he, as well as Trunks, needed love. Aww.

**"Swimming Lessons"**

It had been a long and almost painful journey, but Trunks had finished his task. The overbearing mission of having to befriend Pan and then bring her to the castle was finally complete.

His fiancée, the young beautiful lady, stood waiting at the top of the stairs in the throne room, her golden hair shining in the pale candle light, a bright smile on her face.

"I knew you could do it, Trunks," she said, her voice sounding much more melodious then he remembered. Trunks smirked.

"Of course I could," he replied, with as much cockiness as his position entitled him to. Her smile grew.

"I wanted you to appreciate me. Won't you honour me more so, now that you've had to work to get me?" she inquired, her voice sickly soft, stepping delicately down the stairs. Trunks didn't reply. "And now that you're back," she continued, "we can get married. And I will be your princess... don't worry," she said, her voice breaking off into a light giggle. "I promise not to curse you any more."

"That's comforting," Trunks replied. She smiled all the more, and skipped the last few steps to land at the place where he stood.

"And now that I'm yours... I can finally tell you my name," she whispered, leaning over towards his ear. Trunks raised an eyebrow, slightly unnerved that he hadn't noticed she had not given him her name before.

"My name..." she whispered again, leaning further and further towards him.

"Trunks?" a voice called from behind, startling him slightly, but making his bride jump and leap back from their closure. Trunks turned to see who had addressed him, knowing the voice anyway, and knowing that few would address him so informally.

"What do you want, Pan? You can go home now," his bride interjected, walking around Trunks to stand between the two. Pan glanced at the blonde lady only momentarily, the realization of who she was dawning in her eyes, but made no mention of it.

"I... offered her a reward," Trunks stammered out, feeling suddenly that it was important to say this. The blonde girl's slight frown right sided itself, and she whirled to face Trunks, her light blue dress twirling around her.

"Okay then. I'll let you keep to your offer," she said, nodding and deserting her place as buffer between the two. Trunks nodded, and turned his eyes on Pan again. She was staring at him.

The two stood in their places, not moving further away or towards the relatively small space that was distancing them. She was gazing at him with almost pleading eyes, which not only made him fidgety, but also confused him on the whole. There was a painfully awkward silence, where neither said a word.

"Right... your farm," Trunks stuttered out, desperate to say something. She shook her head quickly, her ebony hair swishing over her shoulders, taking a step forward.

"Don't you see, Trunks?" she asked, taking another step. "It's not the farm I want," she continued, taking steady steps, her eyes never leaving his nor losing their pleading.

"...But, then what _do_ you want?" he asked, blatantly aware that she was standing in front of him with the same closeness his bride had been minutes before.

"Don't be daft," she scolded lightly. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Pan... I don't know what you're-" but he was forgivably interrupted by Pan shaking her head, throwing her arms around his neck to bring his face to her level. Without so much as a glance to see if he would approve, she kissed him, none to lightly, throwing her weight on him.

"Trunks, don't you see?" she gasped out, pulling away from him, eyes scanning his blue rapidly, "I know we hated each other... but that night, with the pool, and the stars, and... oh, Trunks, I love you," she cried, grabbing his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. "I love you, prince," she said, a goofy smile on her face. "Say you love me too," she whispered wildly, moving for another kiss, which by judge of her previous, he would be a fool to turn away from.

"Pan, I-"

"Am dreaming about me?" her voice filtered in, around his closed eyes.

"Every day, Pan, but what about her?" he asked, trying to get words in as she attempted to kiss every exposed area of his face, as well as loosen a hand from supporting the girl to point to the blonde behind him.

"Earth to Trunks, it's just you and me," Pan said again, her voice laced with amusement. He snapped his eyes open, and was surprised, and mildly disappointed to have the image of a love struck, hormonal Pan vanish, and in replacement a normal, quite lustless Pan, looking down at him bemused.

Trunks took a long blink and mumbled some incoherent gibberish before reopening his eyes.

"So," Pan began, face still set in vague amusement, "you were dreaming of me?"

"Actually, I'd more classify it as dreaming _about_ you, not of," he replied, sitting up, painfully aware by the cracks his back made in the process, that he had indeed slept on the ground the entire night.

"There's a difference?"

"'Of' implies it was more of a lusty dream, 'about' just implies you were in it."

"Ah. And dreaming about me, '_every day_'," she imitated his voice to her best ability, eyes rolled to the top of her head, "doesn't imply lusty dream at all."

"Glad we agree."

"Then what was I doing?" she asked, hands on hips as Trunks painfully got to his feet.

"Being sacrificed to a Demon God," he replied mildly, in a lie of course.

"And the 'her' would be? The: 'what about her'?" Pan asked, trying to catch him off balance.

"Backup virgin," he replied coolly, casting his eyes tiredly around his surroundings, which looked quite different in the day light. "We were back at the castle... how many more days until we go?"

"Day after tomorrow," she replied, half-frowning with disappointment in her inability to get him to confess more of what he had dreamed about. She very much doubted he had entire dreams devoted to sacrificing herself in ritual cults to some demon, which meant he was lying about whatever his dream was. And if he wasn't lying, she would consider herself understandably afraid and not step a foot near his castle.

Naturally, there was no way to be sure either way.

The two stared at each other, bound to an awkward silence, as neither could think of anything in particular to say. It was Pan who first turned her eyes away and glanced around the scenery.

In the daylight, the area had lost none of its calming beauty. There were trees surrounding three sides of the pool, amazingly clear in the sun, rippling from the waterfall and carrying fallen blossom petals from a near by apple tree across its surface. The birds had already taken to the day, a few calling to each other from tree to tree.

While Pan had been the first to break their contact, she was also the first to regain it.

"You walked off really abruptly last night... when I challenged you to a swim," she said, almost thoughtfully, the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips. Trunks shrugged noncommittally. "You can't swim, can you?"

"Royalty doesn't take to the water much," he replied shortly.

"You mean you don't wash?" Pan inquired, with what appeared to be good humor. Trunks shot her a glare and shook his head.

"I mean we don't..." he trailed, paused, then sighed in exasperation. "Fine, you're right, I don't truly know how to swim. Surely not enough to beat you, anyway."

"I could teach you," Pan proposed, rather quickly. Trunks cocked his head to the side, slightly taken aback by her immediate offer.

"Why?" he asked. He had just explained that princes don't swim, so there wasn't any real point in learning to swim, since once he returned home he would never need to call upon that particular piece of knowledge. Unless of course the castle was overthrown by murderous mermaids intent on kidnapping the royal family and stowing them away to their underwater kingdom, and the only chance for his family's survival was for him to make a dashing escape, swim to shore and gather an army to storm the ocean...

"It's not like you have much else to do anyway," Pan pointed out. Trunks shook the idea of mermaids from his head, and returned his concentration to Pan.

"And you, Miss Son? Don't you have anything else to do?"

Pan shrugged her slim shoulders, and cast a weary glance towards her home.

"Maybe. But I can take the time for some swimming. So - you in?"

Trunks shrugged again, drawing a grin out of Pan and earning him a friendly slap on the back. "Great," she said with enthusiasm, before slumping to the ground.

Throwing his glance downwards, he looked at the small girl, crumpled on the grass, her knees bent and half drawn to her chest, arms laid out before her, hair tossing itself across her shoulders.

"Pan?" he asked, loudly, with a hint of possible panic in his voice. He dropped to his knees and tilted his head so it matched the angle of hers. "Are you okay?"

"Mmmhmm," she mumbled quietly.

"What are you doing then?" he said in exasperation.

"Sleeping," came a slightly muffled reply, which Trunks quirked an eyebrow at.

"I thought we were on a swimming binge right now."

"Look at the sun," she said, her voice strained with a whine. "It's not even six o'clock. I don't care what time royalty gets up, my parents are gone, and I want some more sleep." Trunks all but gawked at her for a few seconds. It was like she went through mood changes every quarter of the hour. He shook his head, causing stray lavender strands to impair his vision. Quickly batting them away, he addressed Pan.

"You are the most odd girl I've ever met," he said simply.

"Thank you," came the quiet reply, before all conversation from the girl's end disappeared, as she herself drifted off into slumber. He could feel the pull of sleep tugging on his mind himself, but did not submit to it so quickly. He was slightly curious as to why they were suddenly so tired again. Shrugging, he decided it really didn't matter. It was still early morning, and they hadn't gone to sleep until very late anyway.

He let his gaze fall upon her again, his mind running his dream through his head. Dreams don't always mean anything, he reminded himself rationally. It didn't necessarily mean... well, anything, that he had a dream of kissing Pan. More Pan kissing him as it were, but either way - it just didn't matter. Dreams were dreams. He once had a dream that he was a giant blueberry muffin - that hadn't come to anything. Though he couldn't eat blueberries for months...

While the rational part of his mind was throwing off reasons why the dream meant nothing, the irrational part of his mind was trying to access exactly what was wrong with the dream. It didn't care whether it meant anything or not, it was simply trying to process the realism of it. For instance, would he have a problem with kissing Pan?

Yes, the rational part said quickly, distracting itself from its previous task. Pan was a nobody. Princes don't kiss nobodies.

They kiss pretty nobodies, the irrational countered.

Is Pan pretty?

Eyes feel on the slender sleeping girl, as he let all of his mind judge on the general overall look about Pan. He liked her hair, he would admit, long, dark and rather messy at the moment, small loose curls spilling this way and that. Her lips were pulled in a pout while she dreamt, though not one that suggested she was saddened or perhaps angered. It looked almost playful.

Her deep eyes were covered up by thin eyelids, tinged blue with a tiredness that wasn't noticeable while she was awake. Her skin was pale for someone who lived outdoors, and almost translucent in the early morning dawn. Across her cheek, the faintest makings of a bruise splashed against her bone. The off colour tinge certainly would not darken, but he vaguely wondered what had happened.

You slapped her yesterday, the rational mind mocked annoyingly.

Wasn't very nice of you, the irrational commented.

Shut up, Trunks promptly told it. Paused. Pretty, he inquired his mind.

Pretty, agreed the irrational immediately.

Pretty, came the reluctant reply of the rational, with bruise and all.

Trunks nodded to himself. So, if the time ever arouse, it had been deemed fair by all parts of his mind, that he could kiss Pan.

Didn't say that, rational argued.

Ha, neither did I, irrational said.

Trunks allowed an almost desperate moan to escape his lips before rolling his eyes and slumping to the ground, arms length away from Pan. He promptly shut his eyes, willing to sleep. When he started having detailed conversations with his mind, he saw it fit to acquire additional shut eye.

Without further thought or qualm against his mind, he feel into a light slumber, beside the already sleeping beauty.

* * *

"This won't go unpunished," she mimicked to herself, pulling a face and mocking her master. "Idiot," she muttered, taking glances at herself in the mirror every so often, to mimic a face or examine her own. She was busy arranging different creams and remedies before her on the table.

Various plants, seeds, powders and bowls were scattered before her, along side a larger bowl filled with water and a cloth.

He certainly had been angry, she recalled, gently pulling her blonde hair back and away from her face. He hadn't shown it by full out yelling fits, but she knew him well enough to know that the calmer he appeared, usually was an indication of how angry he truly was.

For cover's sake, as well as image and pride, he had chosen to punish her by nonphysical means. She had dealt with his little magic torture before, though never had it been so long and hard as he had made it for her. Pain... always a searing pain that did not ebb. A pain that did not exist on an arm or the stomach, or head - simply everywhere at once. A pain from the inside out, as if someone had decided to try to make your insides out and your outsides in. It was horrible.

All because she made the little prince invisible.

Oh well, she consulted herself, you knew there was a price to pay.

And, when he had finished with his little magic tricks, he had thrown one last blow at her. Lifting stormy eyes, she clearly focused on her image in the mirror. Dipping thin fingers into one of her bowls, she scooped the mixture that lay there, and smoothed it over her cheek.

Her master liked dealing with clean, simple means of punishment. But apparently had wanted something more permanent this time. For while the actual pain of her torture had passed, and all the remained was the bitter memory of it, this final punishment stood out on her face, reminding her of her transgression.

The deep purple bruise that had formed across her check bone from the man looked a great deal worse than it actually felt. Under any other circumstances, she probably would have just left it to heal on its own, not minding walking around with a purple streak of bruise splashed across her face.

Except she was stalking around the castle every day, and she had a good idea that her master would not want her to be seen with the bruise. Questions would be asked, stares given - a messy business in the long run. Better to just cover up the bruise and act as if nothing happened.

No one in the castle needed to know that she was anything more than the future queen of the country. Though, to herself, she did hope someone would pay enough attention to her to guess otherwise.

Sighing, she returned her attention to her cheek. It was simple magic to mask it. She wasn't sure if she could fully heal it, considering who had dealt the blow. Had it been a normal man - fine, but him? She shook her head mentally. She couldn't fully heal it at that point, but she would have to do her best.

Preparing herself for the intense chill the remedy would bring to her face when she applied it, she leaned close to the mirror, and began her subtle magic.

* * *

Twisting a lock of hair around her finger, Bulma smiled. There was nothing specific that she had to smile about, but there was definitely nothing to frown about. She felt rejuvenated and free. She had a mad urge to fly. If she were able to...

Bent up emotions were feeding off her, making her feel almost giddy and hyperactive. She turned her eyes towards her husband, lightly sleeping beside her. His eyes were moving slowly behind closed lids, eyebrows turned downwards, mouth shaped in a thin line.

As if sensing he was being watched, he blinked once, and opened his eyes. Blue eyes met black, and Bulma felt her mouth drop slowly from its closed position.

"Bulma.," Vegeta greeted calmly.

Almost like a rippled affect, she giggled once, and was soon attacked into a full out giggle fit. Her body shook lightly, and she had to clamp a hand over her mouth in attempt to keep them from spilling out of her throat like bubbles in washing water.

Vegeta quirked an eyebrow, saying nothing, though silently inquiring.

She merely laughed more. Her hand covered mouth did no good, for soon the giggles spilt out, and she had to grab her sides to ease the cramp that was forming from the laughing. Tear filled eyes glanced at the man beside her, where she caught a glimpse of his puzzled expression which looked so odd on him, it only brought a wave of new laughter on her. Trying to edge away from him to go calm down, her leg got caught in a small twist of blankets, causing the foot to stay behind as the rest of the queen tried to slip away.

With one foot caught in the bed and the rest trying to make an escape, the forces were unbalanced, and she quickly reached the edge of the mattress, squealed before falling flat off the bed. She landed with a thump, her night dress falling up to mid thigh, hair covering her face save for a slit where her nose protruded, and her one foot caught up in a mess of covers.

She pushed her hair away from her face, glancing up at the bed, giggles gone. Vegeta's face soon came into view, looking over the edge.

"Have you gone mad?" he asked in a slight concern.

"Possibly," she answered, not being able to come up with a truthful answer either way.

"Oh," he replied, gazing at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Do you mind telling me when you decide to go mad... just do I'm prepared?" he asked, eyes back on her.

She shrugged. "I could do that I suppose."

"Most generous," he replied, moving away from the bed's edge. Bulma broke into a small grin, shook her head, and turned her eyes towards the window, where the early morning light was seeping through, casting the room into a cheery atmosphere.

She giggled once more, before standing up, jumping un-gracefully back into the bed, prepared to spend the entire morning doing absolutely nothing.

It had the makings of a perfect day.

* * *

This time, it was Trunks who woke up first. Judging by the new brightness of the sky, it was a few hours later than when the two had first woken. He blinked lazy blue eyes up at the sky, not having any extreme will to move from his resting place. Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out the prone form of Pan, curled up and breathing evenly.

For the first time since leaving home, he began to wonder how things were going back at the castle. He wondered if his mother was sick with worry. He hoped not. While he and his mother didn't share a platonic relationship, she stilled remained his mother, and he felt more than just a sense of honour and respect for her. He hoped that she was smiling.

As the thought struck him, it occurred to him odd that he did indeed enjoy his mother's smile. She had a very pretty one, as far as smiles go. One that never reached her ears, but gave off the impression of doing so. It radiated without looking silly. When she smiled, you smiled.

Then his thoughts turned to his father. Where was he? He would not waste his energies being worried about Trunks, though he may be upset or angered by his sudden disappearance. He would most likely be punished when he got back to the castle. Not that any of this was his fault - but just try and explain that to Vegeta.

Trunks grinned softly.

Did he miss home? He wasn't sure. He missed the routine of it. The comfort. Naturally, chasing tempered girls around a rugged homestead wasn't his idea of a vacation spot, but it was rather nice to step away from his every day life. Besides, he would be home soon enough.

Trunks wasn't long into his inner musings, when Pan began to stir beside him. He made no move to watch her, or even hint that he himself was awake - preferring to keep his eyes glued to the sky, and let her wake up on her own time.

She didn't take long. Barely a minute had passed before the young girl was on her feet, slowly stretching out her limbs, eyes on the water. When she finally turned to look at Trunks, she pivoted on her toe so quickly, that even though he had moved his stare to her, all he saw was a mad twirl of messy hair and skirts. She automatically pulled her hair behind he shoulders and fixed her eyes on Trunks.

"We going to swim?" she asked, in way of morning greetings, a smile plastered to her face. Trunks sighed.

"I don't think I can learn within two days," he replied, casting a realistic light on the swimming proposal. Pan nodded, apparently she had already considered this.

"I know. I'm deeming this more of a 'get you in the water' type of thing."

"And what would you want me in the water for, Miss Son?"

"If you're trying to make some witty implication, it's gone over my head," she said evenly, stripping off her cloak. Trunks got to his feet and followed her towards the edge of the pool. Casting a look back to make sure he was following, she stepped out into the water once again, this time only going in knee deep to make sure she did not get completely wet in vain again.

Trunks had his eyes on the water - debating. It looked clean enough, the water was very clear, and there was no odour coming from it. Surely it would be all right to go in. Even if it was not the princely thing to do... it would still be fine. Because no one would ever know he had gone in a pool. In fact, it wasn't that big of a deal at all - to any one else's business, he was having a wash, but refrained from stripping fully, for the fact that a lady was present. Even with his conscious fine on the whole swimming extravaganza, a small part of his mind was half queasy about stepping in. He could plainly see the vegetation on the bottom, and it looked rather slimy. And was that a fish?

"Are there fish in here?" he asked, not taking his eyes away from the spot he thought he saw a small gray fish zip by.

"Fish do generally live in water," she replied, voice approaching sarcasm. "I hope you aren't afraid of a little guppy. I'm sure it's more afraid of touching your big feet than you are of stepping in."

"Never test the depth of the water with both feet," Trunks retorted, raising his eyes to look at her.

"And that means?"

"I don't know, but it sounded good at the time." With a shrug, he stepped in, saddened to find his thoughts on the slimy seaweed had been completely correct. His dislike for the plants between his toes was apparent by the look on his face. Pan rolled her eyes.

"The plants stop growing once you get further out," Pan said, taking steps further towards the middle.

"Really?" Trunks asked, following her lead, anxious to get out of the seaweed.

"Yep. Once it gets to the point where the sun doesn't reach the pool's bottom, the plants can't grow," she explained, stepping to where she was beyond waist deep. With a grin, she dropped her knees and sunk fully under water, spontaneously. Blinking, Trunks waited for her to resurface, keeping an eye on her under the water to make sure she didn't try and be cute and pull his legs or something.

But she came up for air soon enough.

"See. Now you go under."

"I don't think-"

"Don't tell me you're scared. Sheesh, one second you're mocha prince, and the next as cowardly as a little boy. It's one or the other, consistency is more than welcome."

"Hey, consistency isn't always good you know. Especially if you're consistently wrong."

"Or consistently annoying in your case," Pan retorted. Trunks opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by another voice, one not belonging to Pan.

"Miss Pan, Miss Pan," the voice addressed from the pool's edge. Trunks turned to look at the voice's owner. By the water's end stood a young boy, aged around thirteen, almost hopping from foot to foot with anxiety.

"What?" Pan asked, with a concern that had never been directed towards him before, and therefore had not known she had even pocessed it. The boy looked around the water for a moment before answering.

"Should you be swimming alone, Miss?"

"Are you blind? I'm here too," Trunks muttered, before he plainly recalled that he was in fact invisible and the boy could not see him. He hoped Pan had not heard his comment.

"And consistently stupid," Pan sang out.

Apparently she had.

The boy's eyebrows fell together in a knit before speaking again.

"Stupid, ma'am?" he inquired, slight hurt in his voice.

"No, no," Pan said, shaking her head. "Never mind. What is it?"

"It?" the boy looked puzzled for a second before snapping his fingers. "Yes. Umm, there's someone to see you. And the house, miss," he grinned, happy to have delivered his message. Pan nodded thankfully, wading back out of the water.

Shrugging, Trunks turned to follow. He wasn't immensely disappointed that there had not been any swimming. Besides, if Pan was making a trip back to her home, he could go with her and grab something to eat, With a painful realization, he discovered he was approaching being famished, and would not turn down another apple pie. Though he doubted Pan would agree to make him another.

Looked like the pie stealing devil would have to strike the kitchens once again.

* * *

Thank you all for your reviews. Some have been real inspirations, and I appreciate every one of them.

Angel Eevee


	9. Pie Devil Returns

**A/N: **See chapter one for disclaimer. I'm not sure how to formulate any sort of thanks for all the wonderful reviews I've gotten so far, but let it be known, each and every one is more than appreciated. You guys are the best. And _completely _off topic: does anyone have a livejournal? I'm wish to read something new. And I need to say I'm sorry, this took me longer than I had anticipated. I chalk it up to midterms, fieldtrips, rat dissection (do _not_ take Biology, my friends. Do not.) and Harry Potter premiere. Been busy, but you can just call me lazy if you wish. To compromise, this chapter is longer than usual. I have no clue how that happened either. So, here we go:

**Last Time: **Trunks dreamed of Pan (a kissy dream, woot), Pan proposes swimming lessons, but Trunks never sets foot in the water because a boy informs Pan that she is needed at the house where a visitor is. Trunks' fiancée gets a slap in the face (literally) by her master, when he discovers how much she is messing up with Trunks. Bulma is happy, therefore so is Vegeta.

**"Pie Devil Returns"**

King Vegeta drummed his finger almost lazily on the arm of his chair, only half listening as his advisors all murmured and grumbled amoungst each other. He was rather annoyed at this display of passive back talk, though knew full well it had been coming. What else were they to think when he informed him that his son's engagement was on hold, not for the fact that he was missing, but because he had decided to let Trunks choose his own girl to marry?

Eras of tradition were slipping away, and the murmurs did not seem to have an end. He knew that he would be faced with this, but also knew that in the end, it would be fine. It wouldn't be the destruction of their kingdom. He trusted his son... sort of.

Either way, if it meant Bulma being normal again, he would go for it. It had been a while, even before the whole dispute over love was brought up, that he had seen Bulma so happy. Her giggle fit that morning was solid proof of her conversion to happiness.

He was glad to see the frown off her face - it always did look out of place there.

Collectively, the mumbling died down, and he raised his eyes to the men surrounding the table, to await their gripes and qualms.

"Your majesty, tra-"

"I know. I don't care," he replied. He cast his eyes to each man seated, slowly, trying to deceiver who was for and who was disagreeing with him. He was honestly surprised to see many appearing in favour of his decision. Either he was losing his touch, his councilors had become experts at emotion masking, or they really did agree with him. He wasn't sure which would be worse.

It was a man he could place as Koslin that spoke up. Koslin was one of his more trusted, and he was more prone to listen to what he had to say. The man took in a sniff of air and coughed roughly into his hand. Vegeta waited with mild distaste, watching the man his son had dubbed 'the hermit' from an early age, and as far as he knew still referred to him as such.

"Your Majesty's command has some deep merit to it," he spoke in a rather squeaky voice. A few heads from the assembled council turned to look at Koslin, as if waiting explanation. He gave it to them. "With a loved queen at the Prince's side, it will give two rulers to the land, not just a political figure head. Two heads are better than one, they say."

Most members nodded in agreement, and Vegeta found himself raising his eyebrows and leaning back. He had thought that his decision would arise lengthy controversy, but it appeared that it might be an easy road after all.

Things were looking up.

Now, if only he knew where his son was...

* * *

Pan and Trunks walked in decent silence, not awkward yet not pleasant either. The messenger boy was trotting a small ways ahead, so had they felt the need for conversation, Pan was sure they could have pulled off a muttered one, but had in mind that the certain boy walking ahead of her already thought she was a bit off, and didn't want to confirm his suspicions in any which way.

Besides, she wasn't sure there was anything really _to_ talk about. She vaguely wondered if they would ever make their way back to the pool for a swim, but in the long run it wouldn't really matter anyway. The prince showed no immense desire to learn to swim, though she had been looking forward to watching him attempt it. But a visitor was a visitor, as the boy had said, and since she was the head of the land at the moment, it was her job to greet them. No matter who it was or what they wanted, and no matter that she had been in the middle of coaxing a cursed royal to walk in fish water.

She frowned slightly. She _would_ get Trunks in the water, some time. She just had to, if only for pure amusement's sake.

As they neared the house, she caught Trunks sidetracking on his own path, heading the other way, seemingly not interested in who was at her home. She didn't much mind, in fact, she hadn't really wanted him present while she had to be professional anyway. The boy that had brought the message had gone back to whatever work he had been doing previous, so Pan walked into her kitchen, where she had been told the visitors awaited.

Upon stepping in, she felt her jaw clench unconsciously, and willingly bid her eyes to keep from narrowing. While the man that stood apart from the other three he had brought along with him, was no stranger, and had never been a real threat to her, she did not share an immense love for the man.

Dark eyes gazed at her as she walked in, leaving the door open, and gave a slight nod to her head by way of greeting.

"Miss Pan. How good to see you again. I trust you're well."

"Yes. And yourself?" Pan countered, with force niceties. The man reached up and rubbed his short beard in thought.

"Well enough," he said softly. "You left awfully quickly yesterday. I was worried something was wrong." Pan raised her eyebrows. She _had_ left early yesterday, naturally, from the meeting where Trunks was being his usual charming self. Why did he take such particular notice?

"I had other things to tend to," she partly lied.

"Of course. You, working all alone out here. You are coping?"

"Yes," Pan said, feeling her jaw clench again.

"Your dear uncle was kind enough to inform us, that apparently, your farm is no longer in danger of the king's grips."

"He is right."

"Ah, but how can you be sure? Pan, I offer you the security you need. The security that your family may not be able to provide for much longer."

"Everything is taken care of."

"Oh, Pan, Pan, Pan. Do you still refuse my offer?"

"I've never considered otherwise."

"You don't really have a choice in the matter, you know."

"Oh?"

"You can't hide behind your father forever. The law is the law," he said, eyes bearing into her, taking strides towards her. The other men in the room were leaning leisurely against the far counters, watching the display. Pan was half-horrified to feel herself stepping backwards, towards the table, to keep the distance between herself and him.

She was being cornered like a mouse by the lion. The men in the back were chuckling at her.

"If you have no real business here, I suggest you leave," she said, keeping her voice calm, even if her knees were not.

"Oh, but Pan. I have every right to be here."

"Get out."

"I think not..." he said, smirking, and continuing to walk towards her.

* * *

Trunks stood, crouched, behind the counter, anxiously waiting. There were four women, in total, in the kitchen at the moment - all stuttering around like ants, baking and cleaning things.

A blueberry pie sat on the counter, slowly cooling from the oven. He could smell the freshly baked pastry from outside, and it had called to him. Collecting all of the training he had ever mastered at the castle, he cast his eyes around the room.

Alright. Woman One was washing out pans - her back was turned. Woman Two was chopping things at the table, she was facing sideways. Woman Three had her head stuck in a cupboard looking for something. Woman Four was opening the far windows. With a glance at Four (she was looking away) and a final one at Two (she was looking down at her knife), he grabbed the pie and dove behind the cupboard.

He waited, with held breath for a moment. Then another. No one was making a scream. They did not notice yet. Grinning happily to himself, he lost all pretense of being civilized and using utensils, and simply drove his fingers into the pie, pulling the dripping blue filling over his hand, and bringing it to his mouth.

It tasted divine and heavenly all at once. The pie almost melted down his throat, and he was all too eager to go for a second handful, and then a third, even a fourth. By then, the sweetness was taking effect, and he hesitated to eat anymore. He did not want to over indulge, or else he might get sick of pie and be put off of it for a few weeks. And that would be a tragic sin.

So, instead, he slowly got back to his feet and looked around the room again. Waiting for the four woman to be in positions of blindness, he placed the half-eaten pie back on the table, wiping his pie-covered hands on a near by rag. There. Breakfast was complete, and even better, it was pie. And the woman could not claim it was some devil. Surely there were children or other craved men that stole some of their pies. He could pass the blame to some of them.

Planning to stick to that lie, Trunks made his way to the main house where he knew Pan was meeting a visitor.

When he slipped through the already opened door, he looked at the visitor with recognition. A well-built, tall man stood with arms folded looking at Pan. His dark eyes, hair and beard made him identifiable as the same man that Trunks had seen in town just yesterday. He really only remembered him, because Trunks had taken a note to his appearance, as he was one of the men who had been staring at Pan when she had gone into the building that day. The man other than the one he had mistaken for her boyfriend.

Somehow, he knew immediately that this man was not exactly wanted. Whether it was the uncomfortable look he was giving Pan, or the fact that she herself was shifting her gaze uneasily around the room, it set his senses to alert, and quietly walked into the room.

With a quick look away from Pan, he saw that three other men had accompanied the recognizable one into the house. None of whom looked as if they worked for Pan. His eyes scanned over the newcomers slowly before one of them chose to speak up.

"Aw, just go for it, milord," he slurred, sounding slightly drunken. Bewildered as to what the man was talking about, he turned his gaze back to Pan, shocked at what he saw.

The bearded man had closed off whatever space had lied between the two and had Pan in his arms and, from what Trunks could see, was kissing her. He felt rather affronted that Pan was courting such a distasteful looking man, and somewhat jealous, knowing how Pan could kiss... even if it was only in a dream. He was about to turn away to spare himself the sight, until he realized something that changed the entire situation.

Pan was fighting back. With upraised eyebrows, he looked on as Pan attempted to push the man away with little succession. Whether he had known Pan or not, there was only one thing to do. If some man had the nerve to kiss a lady when not desired, they set themselves up to be dishonourably punished. Not waiting a second longer, though minding the build difference between the man and himself, he marched over, picking a wooden bowl up on the way, pulled back and swung.

In a flash the man had stumbled down to the floor, awkwardly rubbing his head. Trunks blinked at the shear damage the blow had done, and looked at the bowl in his hand with slight wonderment. He dropped the bowl quickly, aware of how a floating dish might look. The three men were frantically looking around the room, trying to figure out what had happened. The bearded man wasted no such time. He merely got to his feet and cast a venomous glare at Pan, almost as if he thought she were the one that had delivered the blow.

Pan looked somewhat fearful under his gaze, even more so when he brought back his hand. Ready to block the blow, Trunks dashed ahead, and was half-puzzled when the man stopped on his own accord. Instead, laughing, he took a hold of Pan's chin roughly, forced another kiss on her, before shoving her back at the wall. With another laugh towards his men, he nodded towards the door and they trooped out.

Trunks watched them go, refraining from casting a quizzical look to Pan who was leaning against the table, eyes cast wearily at the door, her form shaking slightly. Trunks locked the door firmly before turning to see if she was all right. He walked to where she stood, waiting for her to raise her eyes to his own.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She raised her eyes, chest heaving with lack of air from fear or exertion he did not know. She nodded shakily.

"Thanks, I don-" she paused mid-sentence, mouth forming her last word. "Did you eat any pie?"

Trunks' mouth twitched faintly before bringing a hand to his chest and staring at he with a mock disbelief. "I have just saved you from those wench-seeking hounds, yet you presume to accuse me. My good woman, you told me to keep away from your kitchens, and a prince does not go back on his word. I would sooner cast myself into a pit of flesh eating salamanders than to loose the trust of such a lovely lady, like yourself," he finished in the most innocent voice he could muster.

"Right," she replied. They stared at each other for a few seconds.

"I have pie filling all over my face, don't I?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Yeah."

"Though the imagery of the flesh eating salamanders was good."

"Was it?"  
"Absolutely."

"Does that make up for me stealing a pie?"

"Absolutely."

"Really?"

"No."

* * *

Bulma walked leisurely through the gardens of the castle, mind vaguely wondering from subject to subject. There wasn't much to think about anymore. She had succeeded in what she had thought to be impossible, and was rather enjoying this low-brain level, un-stressful way of passing the day.

She knew that her husband was, if not already, laying down the law about her son to his advisors. She wondered how they would react. She was glad that she was not there to face whatever qualms they may bring up, and was not there to face Vegeta's rage when he decided that he had had enough with all the questionings.

Bulma liked the gardens. In fact, they were her gardens in every sense of the term, considering that she was the one they had been grown for. The beautiful flowers, trees and paths had not existed outside of the castle until she was queen and Vegeta had ordered her will be done. She had only wanted one thing - a garden. It was a large request, but for a queen what did it matter? That had been Vegeta's logic, she recalled. She continually looked back and couldn't help but pat herself on the back for the foresight of her wish. At the time she had wanted a garden just for the beauty sake of it, but as the years went by she used it for solace, relaxation and a place to think.

They all had their ways of thinking out their problems. Vegeta's father had taken to riding, she remembered. Sometimes he would be on his horse every single day. Vegeta himself liked to pace and fence. Likewise, Trunks was a pacer, though had a fond habit of sitting down with a pile of food when he was stressed out. Bulma was just wondering if you had to be born royal to be in the pacing habit, or if the two had just acquired it when she spotted someone else, in her garden, practicing the very art of what she had been pondering.

Walking closer to the clearing where she had sight of a person, Bulma lifted her skirts slightly so that they would not trail, and walked quickly through the damp grass. She came to an abrupt stop, dropping her skirts once she reached the edge of the stone patio where the person was pacing. Round and round the patio she walked, chewing on a finger nail, face contorted in concentration.

Bulma lightly cleared her throat.

The pacer stopped immediately, and looked quickly to see who had intruded on her. Light blue eyes met stormy ones. Bulma gave a small smile to the blonde girl that she recognized as Trunks' fiancée. The girl seemed to try an compose herself all at once, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears, shifting her weight to stand tall, and linking her hands behind her back.

"Your majesty," she said softly by way of greeting. Bulma nodded to her, throwing a nod towards the stone bench near by. The girl sat down without objection, carefully spreading her skirts about her. Bulma joined her.

"You seem troubled," Bulma started, feeling at ease to talk with this girl, considering that she was going to be her daughter-in-law... well... _if_ by chance Trunks decided to marry her. It was her doing that could make this girl loose the chance at the crown, and she had always seemed rather nice to Bulma. There was no sense not being kind to her now.

The blonde made a slight noise of agreement.

"The prince is missing," she said softly, absentmindedly dashing fingers across her cheek. Bulma stared at her, making an effort to figure the girl out.

"Yes. But I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"I agree," she replied, replacing her hand to her lap. Bulma squinted at her, unsure of what she was seeing.

"Your cheek... did someone-"

"An accident," the blonde answered quickly. The queen nodded slowly. The young princess was shifting her stormy blue eyes from tree to tree, not looking for something in particular, but almost as if she were avoiding making eye contact. There was something almost unearthly about this girl. The way she composed herself, the way she answered things, her eyes... Bulma wasn't sure where they were formed, but the words simply poured form her mouth without her consent;

"You know where Trunks is, don't you." A statement. Shaking her head immediately, she apologized. There was no way the girl could know where he was, or else she wouldn't be worrying. Unless she knew and it was somewhere dangerous, and that was the cause of her worry. Or maybe-

"I know little more than you, your majesty. I do not have any knowledge of his exact whereabouts, but I do have a feeling. A feeling that he is safe and that he will be back as soon as he can."

Bulma nodded. She wasn't sure what to make of the girl, though she had it in mind to stay and try and glimpse more of her behaviour. However, any plans to make the girl a study were dashed by the distant ringing of a bell, informing her Vegeta had left assembly. Pardoning herself, she swept away from the girl, casting one final look back, unable to shake off the feeling that the girl was hiding something.

Hiding something big.

* * *

There was an awkward silence as Trunks gazed quietly at Pan, while she herself pulled out a chair from the table and sunk into it. She was carefully avoiding his eye, attempting to prolong the slew of remarks he was no doubt formulating in his mind. Remarks that he would most assuredly find humorous, but would be tactless to her and what had passed.

Pan didn't mind Trunks having fun with her. She made fun of him enough too, didn't she? But there were times when taunting humor just wasn't necessary, and this was surely one of them. To have that man show up in her house, taunt her a bit, then leave with an extremely unwanted kiss, was not her idea of a perfect morning. The fact that she had the prince standing in her kitchen, having witnessed most of the ordeal, was even worse. She was simply waiting for him to open his big mouth and say something stupid.

And so, she was rather surprised at what he said.

"Do you have any berries?" he asked thoughtfully. She dumbly pointed towards a cupboard on the far side of the room, and watched as he walked over and began to searching through the contents. Typical of him to think of food when nothing of importance was going on. Better food than her, she supposed.

She was only mildly paying attention to what Trunks was rummaging around for, thoughts more settled down, her gaze staring vacantly out the window.

Why had he come? That stupid man. He never came around directly to the house before. He probably knew that her father would not hold for such things, though, in truth, he had been right. He did have some twisted authority to be here.

Mind on the visitor, she found herself jumping slightly when Trunks appeared at her side, a bowl of berries in his hand. He sat down in a chair near her, nudging the bowl towards her. She looked down at the blackish berries in question. If he wanted her to eat those, he was mistaken. They were used for slight flavouring, and too bitter to really eat alone.

"You should have some," he said to her, eyes looking from her face to the bowl expectantly. She shook her head slowly.

"They don't taste very good," she replied.

"I know," he said with a tone of sadness. She raised her eyebrows - and just _why_ was he trying to feed her bitter berries? "But the juice helps to stop swelling, you know. He pointed at her mouth as if it were obvious.

"He didn't hit me," she said, wondering if he thought the man had followed through with his wind back. "He only kissed-"

"And none too gently, I'm sure," Trunks went on, pushing the bowl more towards her. "If your lips get all bruised, you won't be able to talk for days."

"It was just a kiss," Pan whispered, slightly awed at his apparent concern. Trunks shrugged.

"Sometimes little things upset the body. Especially unwanted things." Shaking her head, a small smile forming on her face, Pan reached for a berry.

"Thank you," she said softly. He shrugged again.

"So, who was that guy?" he said, asking the question she was waiting for him to pose. She shifted in her chair, chewing on another sour berry.

"His name is Keipher," she responded simply. Trunks shot her a glare, unsatisfied with her answer.

"He seems rather piggish to waltz in and kiss you out of nowhere. I assume you two have a history. What, did you court him in the past? Because honestly, you could do better," Trunks said, seriously. Pan grinned for a moment, before shaking her head.

"Actually, my mother is the one with a history with him. They were betrothed." Trunks shot his eyes up at this.

"You mean you had a fling with your mother's old would-be husband!"

"Ew, no. I had no 'fling' at all with him."

"But the two were betrothed. And I am _assuming_ that he's not your father. If not, what happened to the betrothal? If so, you have bigger problems than I thought."

Pan laughed.

"Mom fell in love with Dad. Naturally, my mom and Keipher were bound by the law to marry unless he wanted the arrangement off."

"And he did?"

"I doubt it. But he didn't want to marry her if she had eyes for someone else. Whether he was too proud, too offended, or just didn't want to have to constantly watch over a miserable wife to make sure she wasn't off casting eyes at my Dad... I don't know. But he released _her_ from the bond."

"So... where does the whole 'kissing you' come into play?"

"Well, the contract is still there. See, he was generous in letting my Mom go, but the betrothal was never officially broken. So..."

"My Gods. So technically, your mother passed the betrothal down to you."

"Unintentionally, of course."

"So you have to marry that guy?"

"If he wants me, yes."

Trunks stared.

"But... you don't love him."

"Of course not."

"Well, what about that whole speech you have last night? Love and life, and all."

"Love is wonderful, but it can't really go against the law. As I'm sure you know," she said, somewhat bitterly, casting him a look. He raised his hands in defense.

"Hey, betrothal laws were made up way before my time," he said. Then, "But you said he didn't want to marry your mother because he didn't want a miserable wife. If he marries you, won't you be miserable?"

"Most likely."

"Then-"

"But I'm not already in love, you see. He'll just have a miserable wife, not a miserable wife in love with another man."

"Oh."

"Um hmm."

"Well, can't you fight the law?" he demanded. Pan raised her eyebrows again.

"_My_ father did. _Your_ father wouldn't budge." Trunks opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, at a loss for words.

"Is that why you hated me?" he asked quietly.

"It was one of the reasons I disliked you, yes."

"Well... I do owe you for whenever you do break my curse. I'm sure I can help you out of your engagement to lusty boy there."

A wide smile spread over Pan's face.

"Really?" she asked, surprised. Trunks nodded, almost unhinged by the smile that covered her face. "That's... that's very kind of you," she said, respectfully.

"It doesn't really have anything to do with kindness. More so, that if I knew you were married to that guy, and knew the things you would be doing beyond good night smooches..." he broke off into a shudder. "Little Panny and Lust Oldness just don't mix."

Pan giggled quietly.

"Don't call me 'Panny'," she said lightly, tossing a berry at his face, teasingly.

She grinned at him, all traces of her once fear and discomfort of the early confrontation, disappeared.

And Trunks grinned back.

* * *

She hadn't moved from her spot in the garden since the Queen had left. Swinging her feet lightly, she freely spent the morning sitting on the stone bench beneath the willow tree.

She could faintly feel the soreness of her bruise coming back, but disregarded the pain. It wasn't horrible, and truly wasn't worth any fuss. Besides, she imagined that others were in more pain at the moment anyhow.

Not for the first time, her thoughts turned towards her dear fiancé, and wondered what he was doing at the moment. She was quite sure that he had found Pan already. She wondered if he and the girl Pan were still bickering like cats and dogs. She wondered if she was ignoring him, or he her. She wondered if they were friends. Mostly, she wondered when they would return. Oh, she knew the day they would be back, she had told her master this as well, but knowing the time didn't stop her from wondering when it would get there.

Like an anxious child on their birthday, knowing full well that their gifts will be presented to them after dinner, still hop from foot to foot around the kitchen - wondering when it will be time. She had much the same urge herself, to fidget around the castle until he came marching home. To skip through the halls, or stare at the sun as it slowly circled the sky awaiting for it to make its numbered cycles. It was insane how the time drifted. It was maddening how everything she had plotted was falling exactly in place, yet to pieces at the same time.

Her master suspected her, no, he _knew_ she was up to something. Knew that she was bending the rules and finding loopholes to try and escape him. And he was angered by it. But what did he expect? You could not bind a free lady like herself to someone and expect that they will not try and rebel. Their very nature is that of innocence and light magic, they do not pursue other arts because they have no wish to divulge into deeper powers.

By being bound to someone of an opposite field... it was just crazy. It gnawed at her. Begged at her to get free of him. The very essence that gave her power was weary of him; her master. She wanted to be free of him with every ounce of her soul and mind. If she had to sacrifice a few pawns - so be it.

Though with any luck, it wouldn't be necessary.

She was barely conscious of the mild scowl that framed her features as she thought about her imprisonment, nor was she aware of someone else's presence until they made it known.

"Do not frown, your face might get stuck that way. Then the prince would not want to marry you at all. Not that he will now," came the voice. She looked up, startled, and was deeply surprised to see who stood in front of her. Jumping to her feet, her blue eyes danced up and down his figure, almost varying that the man in front of her was whom she thought it was.

The very man she had been thinking about. The very man that forced her to do his bidding. The very man that had her in this entire predicament. But... he never talked to her during the day.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Things are very muddled up, and I have no doubt that it's your doing," he continued, glaring at her with the most spite she had ever seen cross his features. Ashamed, she found herself starting to be vaguely frightened.

"I have done nothing," she defended. "Lately," she added, from the glare he shot her.

"Yes, well then, I assume that the Queen and yourself spoke of this 'nothing' earlier today?" he questioned, eyes angered slits. His breathing was ragged, and he seemed livid. This, when thought about, was a good thing. The more calm he appeared, the more angry he truly was. So, in reality, since he seemed mad with rage, he probably wasn't too upset at all. Perhaps he had a small pebble in his shoe, nothing like the boulder of last night when he... she half consciously brushed her fingers over the bruise. No. This would be fine. Whatever he was ranting about, he already had a solution to it, so she would just have to take the blunt of his fuming and be done with it.

"The Queen and I talked aboutthe prince's disappearance. Whether that is something or nothing, is really based on personal opinion," she commented in her most sing-song voice. His glare did not improve.

"I'm sure. Then I suppose it's simply coincidence that the King announced today that the Prince is not obligated to marry you anymore, despite tradition. The Prince may choose his bride as he sees fit."

She could not help but her jaw droop slightly. Not wanting to let him see her surprise, she clamped her mouth and thought to change the subject.

"How do you know what the King said?"

"It's my job to know. Furthermore, you must have said something about love or feelings or some more of your foolish nonsense, which she then passed on to her husband. That's the only way the King would ever proclaim such idiocy - if the Queen pulled his arm."

"You should be careful how you speak of the royal family," she replied lightly, pleased to see him cast a worried glance around. "And you flatter me to say that I could convince the Queen on something and then she him, in the matter of a few hours. If what you say is true, I do not doubt the Queen was working on him for weeks, if not months."

"You deny playing a role in this?"

She did not answer.

"It doesn't matter. The prince will marry you no matter what."

"I doubt it. If he's to marry for love, what makes you think he'll choose me?"

"Because..." he said softly, in a droopy voice that made her take a step backwards. "You are going to make him. You do know how to create a simple love spell, do you not, my dear?"

He smiled, a sick toothy smile.

And she could sense her plans crumbling around her.

* * *

Righto. Thanks.

Angel Eevee


	10. Telling the Future

**A/N: **See chapter one for disclaimer. If I said I was deeply sorry for this taking so long in coming out, would you believe me? I really am… December was hectic, school and Christmas and all. A mild writer's block didn't help. I appreciate all of the reviews (I'm over 200 now, I fairly died a happy shock, let me tell you), as well as the emails. Thank you and I hope this chapter is good reading. Something about it seems amiss to me, but whatever.

**Last Time: **Vegeta tells his council about Trunks being able to chose who to marry, Trunks steals another pie, Trunks saves Pan from a smooching wannabe-lover, giving her berries to make her feel better, aww, Bulma suspects Trunks' fiancée, and the fiancée is ordered to make a love spell.

"Telling the Future" 

Trunks sat with his hands folded, sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, while Pan ate some of the last remains of the berries. Whether they were truly helping her or not, he wasn't sure, but she looked grateful for his help in any case.

She looked up to meet his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you staring at me?" she asked, in an amused voice.

"No," he replied bluntly. He wasn't… really.

"Then you are deep in thought, and are staring vacantly ahead, and just happen to be staring in my direction," she said, pushing the bowl away.

"Maybe," Trunks said, somewhat surprised. He _had_ been thinking, and found it rather perceptive of her to take such notice of it. Not that it was a landmark achievement that he was actually thinking, just that it was…well, perceptive of her to even look closely enough at him to-… was _she_ staring at him? He looked up; her eyes were set on him, though he didn't think they had always been.

"So, what are you thinking about?"

"Well…" Trunks began. There was no reason _not_ to tell her what was on his mind. It was a question for her anyway, so it might as well be asked. "Remember when you said that your mother got out of her engagement with that guy because she was in love with your father?"

"Yes," Pan answered slowly, with a nod.

"Well, does that mean that if you were to fall in love, you would be able to get out of the engagement too?" Trunks posed the question, one he had been forming ever since he had learned about Pan's would-be-fiancé.

"I doubt it," she replied softly. "He probably wouldn't want to wait for _my_ daughter to marry. He's not going to get any younger… he wants to take a wife when he's still young enough to… do things that wives and husbands do." Trunks stared.

"How in the world can you speak so lightly about the prospect of you… and him… you know…?"

Pan laughed lightly.

"Maybe I'm counting on you to get me out of this situation," she replied, a smile on her lips.

"Maybe," he repeated back. "So, let me get this straight. I'm giving you gold, your land, a ladyship, _and_ trying to get you out of your little engagement? What do I get out of this?"

"You're visibility," Pan replied dully.

"Oh… right. I suppose that is something… worth the price."

"Just maybe," Pan said, her face set in a soft smile, her eyes closed. Trunks gazed at her for a minute, her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed, and her clothes speckled with dirt from the ground last night and still damp from her wade in that morning. Sensing she was being scrutinized, she opened her eyes and looked over at him.

"I'll be glad to be back," he said quickly, not wishing to be caught staring at her. Pan made no reaction to this, merely nibbled on another berry.

"I suppose you miss being waited on every day and being pampered to you heart's content," she said after a moment of silence. Trunks narrowed his eyes and looked indignant.

"Yes, because that's all I do every day. It's not like I have to rule the country or anything."

"Hmm, I thought as much."

"That was sarcasm. You know, I do a lot at the castle," he said, defensively.

"I'm sure you do," she replied, in a half-agreeing tone. "But… don't you think you might miss all of this?" she asked, making a slight gesture with her hand.

"The kitchen?"

"No," Pan replied, sending him a mock glare. "This," she restated. "The almost... freedom of it all. I mean, I've seen how you all act up at court. Walk straight, eat with composure, speak politely, create small talk, look pretty… here, it's completely different. Not to say we're un-cilivilized barbarians or something, it's just… whenever I go to the capital, it feels like everyone is watching every move I make-"

"That's because everyone_ is_. That's part of the game they all play. They watch to see someone screw up, they _want_ someone to screw up; it gives them some gossip for the next day."

"You live your life under examination," she stated more than asked. He answered anyway.

"Yes. It's the price we pay for nobility."

"The only people who watch you like that here are potential lovers and the tax collector," she said with a grin. Trunks felt a grin tugging at his own lips.

"Truth… I think I will miss this place… vaguely. Just the… lack of pink."

"Pink?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"All the ladies, it's all they ever wear. When I was twelve years old I told a young girl that her dress was lovely. It had been pink. That's all they wear now." Pan giggled.

"How odd it must be for you, having whatever you say be practically law."

"How odd it must be for _you_, having whatever you say practically ignored," he replied. She had the decency to look un-offended, denying him the pleasure of seeing it.

"No one that matters ignores me."

"I ignored you," he responded. She smiled.

"Point proven."

Trunks opened his mouth to make a retort, but was stopped by the sound of horses outside. For one wild moment, he thought that it was a royal escort, sent to bring him home, but quickly realized that was not simply impossible, but also stupid.

Pan took the berry she had been nibbling on, and set it back into the bowl. She slowly rose from her chair and stared at the doorway, her fingers flexing nervously. Trunks wondered what she was thinking. Taking uniform steps towards the door, Trunks was surprised at her composure, considering it was all possible that the outside commotion was Keipher coming back for more trouble.

With that in mind, he followed her up and made his way to the door behind her. Pan pulled the door open and peered out. Standing quite near the house was a cart draped in bright colours and faded writing. It was being pulled by one horse, the horseman gazing back towards Pan with a worn smile.

Pan returned it, with a roll of the eyes.

"She back again?" Pan asked, shaking her head. The man merely held his smile, bending down to pat the horse on the neck. Pan shook her head again; her hands on her hips and turned back towards the house.

"I don't hold for this kind of thing," she said towards Trunks. "I'm not that gullible, but maybe you should give it a shot, if you can understand her," she said, her smile turned into a smirk, as she walked back into the house, closing the door behind her, as if to finalize her suggestion for him to stay out and…

He turned, looking at the cart again. What exactly was it that Pan didn't hold for, but that he might? Glancing back at the shut door, he shrugged and walked over to the fold in the cloth that marked the entrance to the cart. He slowly pulled it back enough for him to slip inside.

Trunks stepped in the covered cart, feeling extremely foolish as well as childish for his caution. A well scrubbed short table sat in the middle of the cart, behind which was the only occupant. The small form of a woman sat, rocking slightly, gazing at him with large eyes. An extremely bright blue cloak was wrapped tightly around her, more of the same brightness around her hair. As he began to wonder how such an obscure colour was even created, much less _why_ anyone would want to wear said colour, his thoughts were interrupted as she made a small grunt, motioning him to kneel across from her.

Hesitantly, he sat. Casting a glance behind him, seeing no one, he turned back to her.

"You can see me?" he asked, quietly. Her eyes bugged, and she shook her head quickly. Trunks shifted slightly from his spot. "But you can hear me?" to this he got a frantic nod, the woman looked slightly un-composed, and was constantly rocking. "I didn't talk... how did you know I was here?" he asked, once again, uncertain why he was doing this. He had always known that people could hear him - his mother had, the people in town... but she seemed different. She didn't seem as unearthed as the others to be talking to thin air - somehow her rocking seemed natural to her.

But quite suddenly she stopped rocking. She slowly reached up and pulled the bright cloth from her head, which she carelessly tossed behind her, her cloak following soon after. With the brightness gone Trunks could see curly red hair tumble down the woman's back, a simple black and white ensemble now being worn. He raised an eyebrow at her, a gesture that she, naturally, did not see.

"I don't understand," Trunks said simply.

"Who looks outside, only dreams, who looks inside, also awakens," she said mistily, looking across from her anxiously. He knew one thing now, though not from the riddle – but the whole atmosphere in the cart and her attire. She was a traveling palm reader. Did Pan not believe in fates? Trunks shook his head in slight annoyance. This woman spoke in riddles - he would have to deceiver them to understand her. But he didn't even know where to start...

Sensing this, the woman pointed strongly at the bright clothes she had just tossed off, then towards her simple attire.

"Many complain of my looks, but none of my brains," she said, looking between herself and her cloak. Trunks stared at the blue fabric for a minute.

"No one complains of your fortunes... just..." he paused, looking around the cart. There were brighter fabrics lining the walls, neat piles of cards, stones, tea cups, swirling liquids and glassware lined low shelves. "... but some of your appearance?" Trunks guessed, knowing he was right. A person's view on what a person in tuned with the fates should look like varied. There was no one certain way she could appear and still hold the trust and money of all her followers.

He nodded to himself, knowing he was right. Taking a look at the bright cloak which some may think typical of the fortune teller, he ventured a guess that, "but I don't need all your fake fortune telling façades." She nodded in agreement.

"I also don't need your riddles," he said matter-of-factly. She blinked at this; as if she were never informed before that her proverbs were annoying. Twirling a crimson lock of hair, she shrugged her shoulders.

"Alright."

"Alright, what?" Trunks asked. "No more riddles?" She shrugged again.

"I can try."

"Then, can you tell me how you knew I was here?" he watched her seem to think about this, no doubt formulating a riddle answer as she was accustomed to.

"Some ask to speak to the dead... they are in a similar form," she said, eyes gazing off at a spot behind him. "I can sense you... faintly. But you are not dead, you are different then them... what are you?"

"Cursed."

"Ah. Yes, by a lady friend."

"Yes..." he sighed. "I wish I had met you a few days ago, you could have warned me. But alas, a little too late."

"A little too late, is much too late," she responded almost automatically. Trunks narrowed his eyes, thinking of a retort, but deciding to just go on anyway.

"So, are you going to tell me my fortune?" he inquired, not seeing any other purpose the woman could have for him.

"Well…" she began, casting a discomforted glance at the empty space where she knew he had to be, before continuing. "I wish I could see your palm… it'd make it easier."

"You know, Pan doesn't believe in you," Trunks blurted out. The woman raised an eyebrow and turned her lips upward mysteriously, a reaction Trunks had not been expecting.

"I know. She has a mundane mind… she doesn't like things that are… unnatural…" she paused, eyes cast to a corner of the cart, "which really doesn't explain her feelings towards you then, does it?" she asked quietly. Trunks blinked, unsure if he had caught her soft voice correct.

"Feelings?" he inquired, before snapping his fingers. "Oh yes, she has feelings. She has high feelings of annoyance, contempt, really any bad description you can think of, she'll apply it to me."

"You think she hates you?"

"Oh… well, no. She says she only _dislikes _me. But that all kind of comes down to the same thing, doesn't it?"

She paused, thinking. "If you think she even goes as far as to 'dislike' you, your eyes are invisible along with the rest of you," she said casually.

"Is that another riddle?"  
"No, that's me, telling you that you're stupid… in a polite way."

"I'm not stupid."

"Of course not…" she said softly, in a way a parent agrees with a child's imagination if only to calm them down.

"I mean it… I've been tutored by many great minds."

"You can lead a fool to wisdom but you can't make him think."

"Are you _trying_ to fit in as many insults as possible?"

"I did not intend to insult you. Look," she said, "Pan is… well, she's special, you know?" she started, Trunks' eyes on her, realizing she had dropped her airy countenance and was leaning forward on her table, speaking frankly.

"I have noticed," he replied quietly. She nodded.

"She's got a head full of ideas and dreams, but is much too practical to put them into motion," she whispered, squinting her eyes at him, "much like you. She just needs someone to give her a little shove."

"You want me to push Pan?" he asked incredulously. She laughed.

"I want you to… go for it."

"What?"

"Don't play coy," she said with a sigh. She pursed her lips and continued. "Okay, forget Pan for the moment. What's your favourite colour?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Colour."

"Why-"

"I can't see your palms, I'll have to do this another way. Now, colour?"

"Erm… yellow?"

"A happy colour; peaceful, content, much like the sun." Trunks made a face.

"Maybe my favourite is black?"

"Saddened, angered… you need light in your life."

"Red?"

"Favourite food?"

"Pie," he responded immediately.

"Flower?"

"Rose?"

"Loud or soft?"

"… both?"

"So, it seems to me, that you want someone who is happy, content, though with deeper emotions, someone who is sweet, someone who is dangerous and always changing, though probably someone who is sure of themselves because you definitely are not."

"What does-"

"Well, I think that describes Pan nicely," she said with a nod of accomplishment. Trunks gaped at her for a moment before folding his arms like a defiant child.

"You could have twisted whatever I said to match Pan," he whined.

"Why don't you just take a shot at her? Tell me with complete honestly that you haven't considered her."

Trunks swallowed, eyes shifting around the cart, weighing his options. He could lie through his teeth, but he wanted to see where this woman would go with all of this. And he could not deny to himself that he had never thought about it. He had had an entire argument with himself just yesterday over Pan and her compatibility with him had he not? Somewhat reluctant, he replied;

"I can't say that I haven't."

"So, what is stopping you?"

"I have… obligations, and…"

"Just go for it, sir."

"Don't you ever give up?" he asked in exasperation.

"Quitters never win, and winners never quit."

"Ah but those who never quit _and_ never win are idiots."

"Which makes it a good thing that I've won. Just give it a go, even if nothing comes of it, you will know, instead of living a lifetime with your magic-doing princess, and always wondering."

"Pan's engaged to- wait, how did you know I was cursed by a princess?" She stared vacantly ahead, a small smile on her face, but offering no reply. "… you know, I don't think you're as fake as Pan believes you to be."

"Just don't tell her that," she said with a laugh and a wink. She turned away from him, her red curls bouncing at the movement, and began to put her bright clothing back on. Trunks quietly stood up and walked to the exit of the cart. "Farewell, your majesty," she called back to him. Trunks paused briefly, then hopped out, slightly disconcerted at how she could have known… she had sensed him, known he was a prince… maybe Pan had set this whole thing up? Either way, it wasn't as if she could reap any benefits by playing the trick on him; she wasn't around, so he knew she had not been eavesdropping. But…

Maybe she _did_ set the whole thing up, because… Pan wanted him to think it was his fortune to try and be with her. In which case, she had developed feelings that were different than 'dislike', and it would be safe for him to… but if the woman really just could tell things about him then… did he risk taking a chance with her?

Or could he go the rest of his life, never knowing?

He was jostled out of his thoughts by Pan, who had not spoken, but merely came into view. She had gotten dressed since he had last seen her. There were still traces of the berries around her lips, though her skin looked refreshed and cleaned. She had replaced the underclothes and cloak she had slept in last night with her usual white under dress, though she must have had several for it looked crisp and clean, and over top laid a heavy green material that defined the curve of her hips if nothing else.

To Trunks, it looked as if the ensemble would be too sweltering, especially when the afternoon heat set in, but if Pan was too warm, her face didn't show it. In any case, she seemed to have prepared consciously or not for the heat by tying her hair up and away from her shoulders and neck. It lay in a messy heap on her head, the curls from the water that morning, adding to the imperfection of the style. Somehow the sloppy style had a neat and complete fitting on Pan.

She walked past him without casting even a glance in his direction; so whether she saw him or not was undetermined. A smile spread on her face as she leaned an arm on the cart, transferring the apple and knife that were in her hand to the other, and gazing up at the fortune teller in amusement.

"You just never give up do you?" she asked in humor. The red head shrugged, pulling at a loose thread on her shawl.

"I just had a feeling I should talk to you… I had a feeling that it may be one of the last times I could," she replied, a far off tone in her voice. Pan tightened her grip on the cart and made her smile vanish.

"Why? Is something going to happen? Are you in trouble?" Pan asked, eyes wide.

"For someone who doesn't believe in magic, you sure sound concerned," she answered, her face in a smile, fingers twirling more loose threads. Pan scowled.

"Things have changed since we've last seen each other for me to put some slight faith in magic… however, faith in _you_," she paused, shaking her head. "_Is _something wrong?"

"Oh no, nothing 'wrong' at all," the fortune teller replied, casting a meaningful look behind Pan, sweeping her eyes in the vague area, trying to make eye contact with Trunks but having no sure idea of where he stood.

"But then why won't I see you anymore? Are you going away?"

"No, but you are," she responded. Pan made a mild face.

"That's true; I have some business in the capital once my parents return. But that'll only take a few days at the most."

"Perhaps. I think you are in for some changes, Panny, changes that if you accept them, will make you quite happy, I'm sure."

"What are you talking-" Pan began, a surprised and impatient tone taking on her voice for all of her friend's vague telling. The red head swooped down, and leaned towards Pan, her lips resting at her ears and she whispered something, too quiet for Trunks to pick up. She pulled back, and Pan's face was blank with surprise. A few silent seconds past before Pan looked up at her and questioned;

"Keipher?" in an unbelieving tone.

"No you dolt," came the response, followed by a meaningful glare. Pan blinked before gasping and bringing her free hand to her mouth, her face set in disbelief.

"Nooo," she drawled out with a smile.

"Yeeees," the friend imitated. Pan's smile vanished and she shifted her weight on her feet.

"But… but-"

"No 'buts' this time Panny. The cards have dealt you a hand, just work with what you've got."

"But I don't want to-"

"Yes you do. Don't bother looking at me like that," she chided, as Pan scowled up at her. "You deserve it," she said after a pause, her smile widening.

"And what have I ever done wrong to deserve-"

"It's not a punishment, Pan. It's a blessing… in disguise."

"A very good disguise," Pan replied with a scowl. The friend's reply was only an increase in her smile, if it were possible to get any wider. She nodded, her mind apparently set on what she wanted to do, and waved innocently down at Pan, and then behind her to Trunks. She turned back to go inside her cart, her bright skirts swirling around her bare feet.

There was a faint call from the inside, which set the horsemen the go ahead. Within seconds, the horse had begun to trot away, the cart being pulled behind it and the young fortune teller set off to new places to read palms and tea cups about love, life and no doubt the occasional death.

Pan stood immobile, apple and knife still in her hand, eyes cast vacantly at the disappearing horse and cart.

Trunks stared at Pan. The words of the soothsayer circling in his mind; _Just__ go for it, sir._ Over and over.

Just go for it, Trunks, his mind said, gently prodding him forward.

Oh nooo, can you imagine what Father would think? You, dodging the throne and gallivanting the country side to make love to annoying peasant girls, he argued back.

Okay, first off, we aren't here by choice so we're not 'dodging' the throne, second, one kiss isn't making love, and third, the best part of the whole thing _is_ that Father would hate-

You are impossible.

Not as impossible as _you-_

But Trunks had, thankfully, learned to tune out his disagreeing mind long before this moment. He still had his blue eyes staring at Pan fixedly – thinking, though trying to think without the input of his ever complaining, ever imputing mind.

So what if some fortune teller wanted him to go after Pan?

So what?

So… it was time to forget about his father. Forget about his mother. Forgot that he was a prince, that he was invisible, that he was stranded in the country. Forget that he was engaged to a magical lady who had a will for him of her own. Forget that he had any obligations; forget that it was sunny out, that he would be going back to the castle evidently.

Just forget.

And finally do what he felt like doing. What he wanted to do at that exact moment.

For once in his life, be spontaneous.

With that will in mind Trunks took his eyes from Pan…

… and walked away.

Only to pause, blink, shrug, stamp his foot, bite his lip, snap his fingers, and finally give up to the will in his mind. Before he could think of the complications of his actions, before he could wonder what the other member of his mind would react, he went for it,

_Just go for it, sir._

So the prince marched back to where he had stood, and kept on walking quickly beyond that point and over to where Pan stood; her curls and green dress swaying ever so slightly in the small breeze.

His part of his mind was begging for him to stop dead in his tracks, but he was fairly blocking out all thoughts of is mind. He reached Pan, grabbing her hand to turn her around. He was met with a slight scream from the girl. Unsuspecting this reaction, especially _before_ he even did what he approached her to do, he blinked, glancing down to where her own eyes were turned. His own hand had a tight grip over her palm, which held the apple and knife inside.

Quickly releasing his hold, she opened her palm, revealing a jagged cut on her hand, blood slowly spreading from it. Her eyes were wide and she turned her face back towards him.

"Look what you did!" she half screeched. Trunks blinked, and stared at her wide-eye expression, the faint flush o her cheeks, and he subconsciously knew that a massive yell fest was approaching. Disregarding the blood (surely it was nothing too serious); he gave way to his spontaneousness, having a vague idea that it would not resurface again. He slipped his hand to the back of her waist, and before she could even change the expression on her face to questioning or yell at him to remove his hand or scream about the blood; he had brought her face up to his own, and placed his lips on hers.

* * *

I thought this a wonderful place to leave off. And subconsciously, I'm sure you do too. Woot, ten chapters and they finally kiss. But how does Pan react… I have no idea yet. XD

And as always, if you want an email to tell when this is next updated, request so in a review or email, and I'll add you to the list. Thankys.

Angel Eevee


	11. Not Without Permission

**A/N: **See chapter one for disclaimer. I really didn't think I could get this done before my exams, but a well placed snow day (days when I love living in Canada) gave me the time to wrap this chapter up inbetween numbing my fingers on the piano and cramming for Biology and Greek. To satisfy all the update vultures out there, here you are.

**Last Time: **A fortune teller came along, and… oh, does it really matter, the most important thing is: Trunks kissed Pan! On with the show…

**"Not Without Permission"**

"Look what you did!" she half screeched. Trunks blinked, and stared at her wide-eye expression, the faint flush o her cheeks, and he subconsciously knew that a massive yell fest was approaching. Disregarding the blood (surely it was nothing too serious); he gave way to his spontaneousness, having a vague idea that it would not resurface again. He slipped his hand to the back of her waist, and before she could even change the expression on her face to questioning or yell at him to remove his hand or scream about the blood; he had brought her face up to his own, and placed his lips on hers.

And then he, obviously, kissed her. Not an end-all kiss. Not a passionate kiss. Not one of force, of questioning really… just… a kiss. A small simple kiss.

Kissing the Real Pan was quite different than kissing Dream Pan, because the dream had been flinging herself at Trunks, and all he had to do then was sit back and enjoy the kiss. Real Pan was not so enthusiastic.

She stiffened, naturally, and he could only wonder what was going through her brain at the time. She did not force him away, though did not encourage the kiss either.

In a moment, Trunks pulled back, taking his hold off of her body, giving her room to react.

Pan stood still, blinking rapidly, her face expressionless. It took a moment before she snapped out of her world and looked up at Trunks, her eyes quite blank.

"Why did you do that?" she asked deadly quiet. Trunks shifted on his feet, unsure of the answer.

He had expected her to yell or slap him, or… display some other female over-reacting display, not a simple question to which he wasn't sure if he had a proper answer. What was he to say? Oh, well, I just, you know… felt like doing it? I wanted to see if you kissed as well in my dreams? Wanted to know what it was like to kiss a peasant? …Because I feel something utterly frightening towards you, and wanted to know if a kiss would make that feeling more understandable?

Trunks opened his mouth a few times, looking quite like a fish, while Pan's blank look settling into a look of anger with every passing second. Surely a reply from him would have delayed or even stopped her outburst, which was expected from the beginning, but Trunks didn't comment quickly enough. And if he had been expecting an angered outburst, his expectations didn't come close to Pan's now narrowed eyes, and the feelings stored inside.

"You are such an idiot," she seethed. Trunks winced. It was just a kiss… "I can't believe you. Yes, lets just go and have a little fun with the little farm girl, I'm an all mighty prince, and hey, everyone on the world is here for my pleasure. What? No, Pan won't care if I go and kiss her because I need some female contact, naw, Pan won't mind. It doesn't matter that I'm a complete jerk and that one minute I'm acting all selfish and superior and the next I'm all sweet, and I have a sense of humor, and I'm slowly pulling the poor little girl into my trap. I'll win her affections, and then I can have my fun, won't that be great? And then I'll get to go back to my nice big castle and never think about the little brat again, but she'll probably still think about me, because she was actually thinking things meant things, but I was just having fun, because I'm an inconsiderate brainless bastard!" Pan ended in a yell, her entire slew of words strung together rapidly, and said with hardly any pauses for breath. Trunks stared at her.

She was breathing more heavily from lack of air, looking at him, pleading for him to respond, but all he did was stare, a look of helplessness on his face.

Pan was feeling confused and angered that he would dare try and play with her emotions before surely throwing them back in her face. Because Pan didn't play with feelings; and what she was slowly feeling for Trunks was nothing to joke around about, and on top of that, her silly fortune teller friend had said that she and Trunks…

And Trunks was staring at her, even more at a loss for words. Thinking of an explanation for kissing her in the first place was hard enough, but trying to think of a response to her rant was nearly impossible. What was she even trying to say? She thought he was just getting his kicks off of her? Was he…?

No.

But yes.

He wanted to kiss her again for all he was worth, and take her away to some far off tower where he could keep her all to himself. But he also wanted to grab the knife that was still clutched in her hands, drive it through her chest, and be rid of her and any other silly feelings she caused him.

She was shaking her head frantically.

"You don't understand a thing. Not a thing," she said, making little sense. "Would you please stop? Just… stop. Don't you get it? I'm starting to… it's not fair. Don't play with me," she said, switching through pleading tones to warning. She spun on her foot, green dress twirling with her, hair spinning as well. She started to make a proud walk away from him, but he reached out quickly, grabbing her wrist.

"Pan-" he began, but was interrupted by a small choke from her. "…Pan?"

"My hand… really hurts…" she murmured, slowly dropping to her knees. His hand was still on her wrist, so he knelt down beside her to accommodate the height difference. She was staring wildly at her now open palm, which was now quite wet with blood. Trunks grimaced.

"Geez, we'll have to-"

"And, it's like, woo, I'm a big scary old guy that wants to get Panny, so I'll show up and kiss her, and then some big and scary young guy that wants some fun, is like, wow, if _that_ guy can get a kiss from her, surely I can, because I'm pretty, so I'll just take a go at her. And slice her hand off, she won't mind," Pan murmured, eyes staring off past Trunks.

"Uh… Pan? You're rambling… are you okay? Are you in shock?"

"And Panny doesn't _mind_ because he has been nice to her, and she has a feeling… and he gave her berries when the old guy was mean to her, but the berries were very yucky, but she ate them anyway. Ate them anyway, and-"

"Uh oh. Pan, how many berries _did_ you eat?" he asked, looking her up and down. She shook her head drowsily. Trunks tried to hold back a smile. "Did you know that those are slightly intoxicating? If you ate a lot of them on an empty stomach…"

"-he's got very nice hair though…"

"I think you're drunk Pan… Pan?"

"Maybe… ooh… I'm just going to-" she muttered, dropping forward into his chest, her breathing quick but even. She was asleep. Trunks couldn't hold back a chuckle.

"So. You get two unwelcome kisses, a slash to the hand, and get intoxicated on berries, all in the span of an hour or so. I don't think today is your day, Miss… Panny?" he asked, smiling slightly at the nick name, positive he had heard it in reference before just now. Perhaps her uncle had called her by the name?

He cast a glance around quickly, making sure no one was around, before daring to pick the sleeping girl up in his arms and start towards the house.

* * *

A young woman walked, almost freely, through the castle centered in the capital. She was, by no means, given permission to have free reign of the palace by nobility status – she was far from it. She was a simple servant in the castle, forced to do the whim of the royalty. Not that she minded. That was her job, and she never really thought about doing anything but that.

Usually, she would be away in the morning and near lunch hours of the day, off at market buying last minute items that would be served with lunch. But one of the kitchen boys was fidgety and was sent out instead to get rid of his excess energy, not wanting to have too much of an energetic teen around when work was to be done.

Besides, usually it was just safe to walk around, always prepared to refrain from being cheery or happy, on the off chance the king, or even prince really, was walking past and was in a foul mood. Why, just the other day the king had stormed past her, looking quite livid. Naturally she had scrambled out of his way, and the next time she saw him he looked rather pleased with himself… but that was beside the point.

The point really was that you could never be too careful with what emotions you displayed on your face. It was much more necessary, as said, to do so in front of the male royalty, but with the Queen… well, if she minded what mood you displayed yourself in, she never made a point of expressing her dislike. That is to say, if you walked by with a smile while she was in a foul mood, you would not be found dead or worse down some dusty corridor.

Even so, the staff of the castle had sadly taken note of the Queen's sudden change in mood. Usually she would be smiling to herself, and it was not uncommon to have her stop and hold a conversation with you, even if you were the lowliest of servants. This made her recent downheartedness much more wearing on the staff, who found the Queen quite likable.

And so, it was with this common kitchen knowledge she had armed herself with, walking through the hallways, against the direction the Queen herself was walking. She mentally prepared herself to walk past with a mild smile, and small bow – confident that this would be a neutral response to walking past the royalty, and not offend in any way. Getting ready with the best calm, slightly dreary smile she could come up with, she prepared herself as the Queen walked closer and closer to her.

She smoothed out her apron quickly, tucking stray hairs behind her ears, and licking the edges of her mouth as far as possible, in case any residue of breakfast was still on her face.

Being both mentally and physically prepared to greet the Queen in the proper way, the kitchen girl was thrown for a loop at the expression on the royal's face when she neared close enough.

For someone who was sulking around the entire past week, this woman had seemed to do a complete one-eighty over night. The Queen walked with an almost non-existent skip to her walk, her hands held calmly in front of her, and a true smile framed her lips.

Upon direct passing, the Queen turned her enchanting cerulean eyes on the girl, made the slightest nod of her head, before continuing on her way. The girl stood, rather confused, any thoughts of properly greeting royalty gone, as she watched the Queen's retreating back.

What was _with_ the royals, she thought, surprised. Did they all have the habit of walking around as if their personal hell was perched on their shoulder and the next as if their heaven had taken its place? First the king, now the queen. What was next? She couldn't help but wonder what in the world was causing the mood swings to circle through the royal family. She wondered where the prince was… was he experiencing the swings, or had he fled away from those of his parents.

The simple curiosity of the entire thing got the better of her. Her original plans of taking a break during lunch were rethought. She could have her free time after the meal… she wanted to be an extra hand at the lunch table… maybe one of the royals would spill a snippet of what was going on, which not only could satisfy her curiosity, but could also provide possible gossip.

Mind made up, she switched her direction, and started to walk back to the kitchens.

* * *

Trunks smiled to himself.

He could do that… no one was around to see it. Well, even if someone_ was_ around to see the smile, they wouldn't see it, but of the one person who _could_ see it… she wasn't around. Well, technically, she was, but… Trunks had stopped making any rational sense the minute he decided it would be wise to walk up to Pan and kiss her.

Oh, granted, it had seemed like a superb idea at the time, and in fact, looking back, he didn't regret doing it, not even now. What was to regret, really? Better Pan take it hard, collapse from the alcohol content in the natural berries while he was around, rather than if she had been off on her own, winding up unconscious in the middle of her farm.

Then again, it was of course possible that she had fainted from a mixture of the alcohol _and_ the fact that her hand was pouring more blood out by the second. Perhaps blood made her queasy? Somehow, he doubted it, but it was always a possibility.

She hadn't been hard to carry up to her bedroom, all things considered. Trunks didn't have much experience in carrying sleeping ladies up to their chambers. It simply wasn't an activity that princes indulged in during their free time.

She had been lighter than he would have guessed, and he wasn't sure if that was from his own misconceptions of his strength, or maybe just from the lack of carrying the opposite sex around he didn't have a proper weight reference to refer to.

Not that he carried someone of the _same_ sex around often.

He had, of course, known where her bedchambers were in the house. This knowledge came purely accidental, since only the night before he had chosen that particular room for his sleeping area, to later find out that it actually belonged to Pan. As a whole, this knowledge came as rather disappointing, in that it meant really, no matter what, he would have to move from the bed he had been resting on. There's always a silver lining though, and this cloud came with a stripping Pan.

Being a gentleman, and having no desire to see the girl strip further, he had made his presence known before she undressed completely.

He wondered if he would stand by that decision now.

Which was amusing in a way. That had been less than twelve hours ago, yet already his perceptions of the girl had changed greatly. In fact, just within the past day he had known her, Pan had…

Well, she had a way of saying things, doing actions, gestures… that would make him think. Think about things that he probably would normally not have…

Back at the castle, would he ever have thought about living with love, or about simple life, or… well, anything really? No.

He shook his head.

Somehow, even now, things were starting to change. His sweet fiancée had been right. He would change over the course of the journey. He would learn friendship, that much was for certain. But something inside him was nagging… as if he would learn much more than simple friendship. He all but proved that by the kiss.

Though was it an unrequited one?

He turned his gaze from the wall, towards the sleeping figure on the bed. He sat comfortably at the edge of the mattress, his knees over the side of the bed, torso twisted so that he was facing Pan. She herself had been laid on the bed on her back, mindful of her still-bleeding hand, but in the few minutes Trunks had simply been thinking, she had turned in her sleep, now on her side. Her clean dress wasn't as presentable as it had been literally minutes before.

There was no blood covering it, which Trunks was quite relieved by. He didn't have a weakness to the sight of blood; he had dealt with blood and death since a young age. But he had always viewed the opposing side – the team that had usually caused the injury, and had no clue what to do when someone was harmed. Give a healthy person to him to injure, sure he could do it. Toss him a sword and they'd be gone in five seconds flat. Hand him an injured man to heal and he was lost.

Now he wasn't horribly beyond lost, obviously. Having trained in fencing and dueling, he knew the extreme basics to blood loss. If you had a cut, apply pressure and continue fighting. With this knowledge he had grabbed some cloth from the kitchen and wrapped it around Pan's palm after placing her in bed. It would surely need to be further tended to, so as to avoid infection, but he wasn't sure what to do and would have to wait for her to awaken and instruct him.

As if on cue, the sleeping girl beside him let a soft sigh escape her lips before beginning to lift her heavy eyelids.

She couldn't remember a time when she felt so… well, 'icky' seemed like a stupid word, but was the most appropriate. Her head was throbbing with a dull pain. An almost muffled pain, that was usually the side effects of a fever or a late night at the bar (according to her uncle, seeing as how _she_ would _never_ have an alcohol drink, let alone too much of said drink. Ha.)

The headache was bearable, in retrospect. Her hand however, deserved immediate recognition. Pan waged a slow and steady war to open her eyelids, with failing luck. She had half a mind just to turn over and crawl back into the deep sleep that was keeping her eyes closed, but she couldn't with that stupid hand of her. Why did it hurt so much? Had she slept on it wrong?

She groaned aloud, slightly miffed at her lack of energy. While she wanted to fall back to slumber, she knew she shouldn't and that, judging by the amount of light filtering through her eyelids, it wasn't time to sleep away the day. Not when she was in charge… but what was with her hand?

At the sound of her slight groan, a voice interrupted her confusion, one that she recognized, but with slight difficulty, having never heard it laced with the concern it held now.

"Pan… are you awake, now?" it asked. Trunks, her mind told her automatically. Along with this name came a row of comments she would not voice, and felt mildly resentful towards. She didn't think it was exactly fair for her mind to insult the idiot, especially since…

… wait a minute. At the physical sound of Trunks' voice, the entire reason as to why she was in bed at the moment came to her. The real reason her hand ached so much. The reason… oh. He had kissed her. Kissed her!

Pan grimaced, both physically and mentally. How had she reacted? Her thoughts were so clouded…

_Don't you get it? I'm starting to… it's not fair. Don't play with me._

Oh. Right. She groaned a second time, refusing to open her eyes, despite the gentle voice above her that was asking her to do so.

Why had she even said that to him? Now… no, she had said more. She had rambled on and on and on, in a drunken stupor… those berries really were bad. Why hadn't she remembered what too many could do for you? She was smarter than that…

She frowned. She had been acting silly ever since Trunks had caught her with Keipher. So, he had saved her from him and his… urgh, kiss. So he had been nice enough to find those berries for her, even if they had intoxicated her. So he had been so nice, she couldn't help falling for him. So what? What was she; some silly twelve year old girl with a heart throb? She was old enough not to fall for some silly smile. Especially one from the prince!

But… it wasn't just his smile. He was insufferable, arrogant, and an idiot to boot, but she had found herself trying to coax out a smile, to try and make him open up a little more, despite herself. And, yes, she had succeeded in some degree hadn't she? They had a conversation late last night that hadn't ended in cruel words formed to do intentional harm. It had been meaningful and…

How long had it been since she had seen a man that could formulate an intelligent sentence? Truly – it wasn't as if she spent her entire life around mindless ill-spoken boys, it was simply that…

When they talked to her, they talked to her as a woman. Talked to her as if, even though they were less educated than her, they were superior in intellect. When Trunks talked to her, it was with more equality. Yes, he talked down to her, but she had the correct feeling that this was due to his royal superiority complex, and not to do with her gender.

She had started to fall for him because when he looked at her, it was as if he recognized that he was talking to a human being that held wit and the ability to think her own thoughts… not simply a pretty girl to be won over.

Did it help that he was handsome as well? Did it help that he would smile at her, with a smile that should not grace the features of mortals?

She refused to deny to herself that she was stricken. But why? She was more mature than this, and she had really only seen this man for the past twenty four hours. How could she possibly be in love?

Pan was forced to quickly fight back all memories of Fairy Tales, and their Love at First Sight fables. Her life was no fairy tale, and Trunks was no prince charming.

She couldn't love him. She shouldn't. Because he would just use her infatuation to have his fun, and then leave. He would leave thinking it was funny, and maybe even be regretful some days that he had strung the little farm girl along. But Pan knew better. Really, because he couldn't use her infatuation against herself, because quite frankly, she believed it went a bit beyond infatuation.

She was starting to think that…

"Pan!" the voice spoke with a sudden desperation. Dropping her train of thought, she opened her eyes quickly. It took a few moments for the blurriness in front of her eyes to settle, and through clear vision, she could plainly see the relief on the young royal's face.

"Phooey," she murmured, almost inaudible. Trunks' brow furrowed, although whether at the comment itself or in an attempt to understand what she had said, wasn't definite. He tilted his head to the side slightly, brushing lavender hair away from his face almost impatiently before leaning closer to talk to her.

"Pan? You ate too many of those berries, I think. You sort of… collapsed outside. After rambling for a good while. But… umm, your hand…"

"I know," she said quietly, still wondering what to do about Trunks. How was she expected to act around an invisible prince who had just kissed her and she had fainted into his arms… the sudden romantic cliché of the entire scene hit Pan.

"Yes… well… I didn't know what – your hand I mean, I wasn't sure…" he trailed off, and it wasn't until that point Pan noticed how completely awkward and almost shy he was being. He hadn't stripped her or something equally embarrassing, had he?

But a quick glance down reassured her that, yes, all of her clothes were in tact on her body. She didn't know what to say to this. She desperately wanted to take back the last… well, however long it had been since the kiss. How long had she slept? She wasn't sure, but judging by the strong amount of daylight still streaming through the window, she guessed it hadn't been all that long.

She narrowed her eyes. Just what had possessed Trunks to kiss her! As if she needed any of that added stress to the entire predicament she was in at the moment. Bad enough she had to worry about running the whole farm (not that it didn't practically run itself), bad enough that she had the creep Keipher to deal with, and certainly bad enough that she had a cursed prince following her around; but she definitely didn't need said prince walking around, kissing her as he pleased. So, really, what had made him…?

Pan blinked, turning her gaze sharply to Trunks, who was eyeing her carefully. His jaw was set forward, his eyes searching her face, and his soft hair slowly falling back from behind his ear. He raised an eyebrow at her sudden stare on him.

"What did she say to you?" Pan asked suddenly. Trunks raised his other eyebrow, so that his face was set in mild surprise.

"Who?"

"No, what," Pan said irritably. Trunks rolled his eyes.

"She, who?" he elaborated. Pan only stared back, and it didn't take long before he realized who she was talking about, deciding to ask just to confirm it. "Your fortune-telling friend?" He was met with a nod in the affirmative. "What makes you think she told me anything?"

Pan shot him a glare.

"Well… anything important, anyway," he went on. Pan just shook her head and sat up. He made a move to stop her, or at least help her to ease her way up, but she held a warning hand up and was already on her feet before he could do anything to stop her.

"Why else would you suddenly decide to…" she trailed off, making a vague gesture towards her lips. "I don't know what she was trying to do, but you have no business doing that without permission. None," she said sharply, her eyes looking dark, and not because of their natural colour. She walked quickly from the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Trunks sitting on her bed; alone.

He merely stared at the closed door, knowing that it wasn't just that piece of wood that had shut him away from Pan.

* * *

She stared dispassionately at the mass array of items in front of her, all which would serve a purpose, and she knew perfectly well what each item's purpose was.

"Make a love spell," she mimicked quietly. "As if they're the easiest and safest things to do in the whole world," she spat bitterly. Her elbows were rested on the edge of the work table, her chin positioned on overturned palms.

That man was so stupid. How could she possibly go and make a love spell – a love spell of all things – for the poor prince. She scowled at the memory, casting a sour look on her pretty face.

It wasn't as if she were complaining because of the time or energy one would take. In fact, one that would work on the passionate Prince would have to be relatively strong. It would be a challenge to make, and would put her skills through a nice workout, and the professional part of her was slightly looking forward to it.

However, that part of her was being weighed down by the more outspoken area of her mind that was raging at the unfairness of it all.

What was the point in cursing the prince to invisibility if her stupid master would turn around and tell her to undermine everything it had meant to achieve. She wanted the prince to love for real… for who would want to marry someone with no love involved? And her plan was perfect, right now Trunks was off with that Pan, and they would no doubt be tearing each other limb from limb at this point, but they would be friends.

She was sure of it.

And then Trunks would be ready to step from friendship to love, if he wasn't already, and he could finally marry happily. And so could she. But, no, that wasn't the way Idiot Master saw things. Just slap a love spell on him, and then everything will work to his twisted desire.

Never mind that if she had wanted a prince that would love her falsely, she would have made the spell in the first place. It was probably easier to sit and work out the spell than to try and make him invisible to the one person that would hate him, yes, but eventually forgive him and make him a better person. That had been hard work, and now it was for nothing.

It would seem, she would have to marry him with false love, whether she liked it or not. With a sigh, she set back to work, creating the poison that would undo everything Trunks had accomplished in his heart.

* * *

Yeah, that ending was anticlimactic, I know. I won't even be able to think about this until my exams are all done, so I'm sorry if the next chapter takes a while. I'm hoping it won't. In any case, leave a review with your thoughts; I appreciate every one of them.

Angel Eevee


	12. Fairy Tale Hope

**A/N: **See chapter one for disclaimer. Don't kill me, I swear, for once this isn't late because I'm a lazy prat. My computer was virused (still is) and I lack a connection. As such, this is late, but comes with a friend. Two chapter update, whee!

Thanks for your patience, or lack of.

**Last Time: **Pan faints from many things. Trunks mildly tends to her wounds. She gives him an earful for kissing her. Trunks sulks as only Trunks really can.

"Fairy Tale Hope" 

Trunks hadn't moved from his spot on Pan's bed. He had sat with the sleeping girl; guarding her as if she were the most precious treasure in the world. But now she was gone – he had somehow let that treasure slip through his fingers.

His elbows rested heavily on his knees, his chin cupped in his hands, as his brilliant eyes stared at nothing in particular. He wished he could pin point what he really thought about… well, everything. Everything so weird as it was, and then to add in the fact that he didn't even know what he was feeling. He didn't know what to feel about Pan.

Did he hate her? No. Did he love her? Certainly not. But maybe like? Was it possible that the silly little raven haired, simple peasant girl had twisted his usual reliable mind and was currently wrapping him around her slender finger?

What was it?

Was it just the combination of circumstances, as Pan seemed to think it was? Was he simply attracted to her because she was truthfully a pretty girl, and he was a prince and he and she were… here. And it was all too easy to just take advantage of being the almost imaginary friend to the teen and release some of the emotional stress that both of them were feeling in ways other than yelling, insulting or slapping each other.

Was it possible?

Yes.

Likely?

Definitely.

In fact, it was the most logical explanation to the entire thing, and Trunks was somewhat surprised he hadn't thought of it himself. There was a connection because the extreme circumstances they found themselves in, drove the connection to be there. He had heard the odd story at court, hadn't he? Two people who in a normal day would _never_ be caught together, were found entangled in each other's arms; stranded in a cave. People who were utterly loyal to the crown, but would betray it in an instant when the right kind of object was threatened.

Every day people changed their personalities and habits to meld with those in the surrounding world. It was a wonderful solution, really. He, the prince, was merely attracted to Pan because of the bizarre past days of his life, and his dependence on her. And when he was gone, he would never think of her again and be cured.

Just as Pan had said.

It was odd… how he had taken Pan's accusations as slightly offensive at the time. That she had charged him with having no true intentions and that he just wanted to have a little fun. Well, she was partly correct, he was now concluding.

Did he just want to have a little fun?

Yes and no. Yes, because fun is fun, and you'd have to be a complete stiff to turn down fun. His father came to mind. But no, because he would never seek out 'fun' in the double-meant way she accused. He had too much honour as a gentleman to simply take advantage of her body, as if he needed to be physically satisfied every day of his life or he would go mad. He was no whore that needed the contact constantly.

It was almost alarming at how quickly the answer came to Trunks. As if he had not spent countless hours thinking over his entire 'Pan dilemma' coming up with absolutely no answers, which was infuriating as a whole, but more so as a prince who was used to having some sort of answer for everything.

The truth was: it wasn't that he _wanted_ Pan, he only wanted Pan. His actions were not driven by some sexual drive. His kiss had not been of lust or desire. The gentleness had all but been proof of that.

He simply wanted to be near Pan. Because, thinking upon it, he was a prince, yes, but still really just a young man, who was _invisible_ to the world, and with that curse came the always bearing down thought, that perhaps he could never turn back to visible. Maybe he would forever be stuck the way he was, and then how would he live? What about his crown? What about his family? What about his entire life?

But when Pan was near by, he couldn't think about that. Whether it was because when she was near, his thoughts automatically were shifted to other topics other than worrying about his curse, or he stopped thinking all together, which was sometimes the case with her. Or maybe it had to do with the curse in the first place. The one that could see him… perhaps Pan was supposed to be able to provide him comfort because of her place in the magic.

Did it matter? Did any of it really matter? The 'whys' and the 'hows'. Not really. All that mattered was that he had figured it out – he wanted to be with Pan because it made him feel safer and calmer, even when they were yelling at each other as if there were no tomorrow.

Trunks wasn't sure if Pan would ever understand that however. Understand that he didn't want to hurt her, take advantage of her, or woo her. He just wanted – needed – to be near her. Just to keep his mind at peace.

And he wasn't entirely sure, but he thought that Pan was feeling much the same. She never said it of course, but sometimes it would flash through her eyes, or the fact betrayed by a quirk of the lips.

The odd need that he felt. To be close.

It was a comforting knowledge, because although Pan had a stubborn pride that rivaled his father's, he doubted if she could put off him forever. He would not go mad at the lack of contact with her. He was not rabid to have her near… it was simply more pleasant. And if she felt the same way, how long would it be before she sought him out for the comfort he surely provided her as she did for him?

All completely unknowingly, of course.

A firm smile spread across his mouth as Trunks lowered his hands from his chin and let them dangle over his knees. He understood his own mind a bit better now, and it made him happy. And today, why, it was only half gone. He had the entire day to spend doing… whatever invisible princes do.

He shot up from his comfortable place on Pan's bed, smile still turning his lips.

He hadn't realized what burden his thoughts had been until he had sorted them out. He liked being in control of his mind and actions. But Pan and the kiss… no. That was not control at all. However, now… now he knew at least why he wanted to be with her. He could understand the reason he felt different when around her.

He walked the room in comfortable strides, his thoughts more at ease than they had been for a while. A quick glance out the window confirmed that the day was still brilliantly sunny, the air warm with slight breeze, evident by the gentle rustling of leaves brushing together. The smell of oak filtered through the room, given off by the aged one beside Pan's window. Trunks had no desire to stay hidden away in the house all day. He wouldn't mind going outside, perhaps wander over to the pool Pan had attempted to persuade a dip into the night before? It didn't matter, did it? He was as free as he had ever been at that very moment and intended to take his new found freedom by the hold and do whatever he pleased.

And if that meant finding a particularly nice bit of shade outside and sit sprawled beneath it for the day doing absolutely_ nothing_, then so be it. Who was to stop him? A lazy afternoon was beginning to sound the ever more appealing, as the prince made his way to the door.

In no rush, he paused as a shelf of books caught his eye. With no plans, he could afford to abandon his walk to the exit, and instead turned back and stood before the book shelf. It was a small, pitiful shelf that could only hold about twenty books. Minuscule when he thought about his library at home, but the books that sat on the shelf looked well thumbed, something he could not say his own were.

Some of the titles he recognized, the more 'classic' of them, while others he never heard of, though could possibly own himself. He had never really gone beyond the books his tutors had ordered him to read. It was the final book on the shelf that caught his attention the most. He carefully slid the book off, and held it in his hands for inspection. The cover was much less faded than the others, giving him the idea that it was newer than the rest, however it's pages were more used, less tight and smooth. The age didn't seem to matter, as this book clearly was the most loved of the set.

Running fingers over the title, he carefully turned the cover over to have his eyes meet with an inscription written in an un-neat scrawl. Apparently the book was from 'Uncle G' and for Pan's eighth birthday. He had always loathed books as gifts, but maybe she didn't often receive gifts. Perhaps that was why this one was so treasured? He turned another page, and another pushing past an index. Here, in angelic calligraphy sat the beginning words to a children's story.

A fairy tale.

Trunks blinked. Perhaps this was where Pan got her extensive ideas for happily-ever-afters, dramatic endings and eternal love. She had a liking for fantasy, for make-belief… for the classic prince charming and damsel in distress.

Trunks tilted his head slightly before closing the book reverently and returning it to its spot on the shelf. He didn't really understand it. With all Pan had – her responsibilities, low class, old men chasing her - how could she possibly have any hope for a happy ending? How could she ever end up to be one of the smiling princesses by the end of the story?

It was then that Trunks realized why. All it was was hope. A vague hope for something beyond that which she had now. He had seen it when she had spoken so passionately about love the night before.

Pan had a hope for something special. And with a thought uncharacteristic of him, he hoped that Pan got her wish; her hope. Someone, he was sure, would marry her for love.

Yes. Someone…

* * *

"Someone, I am sure, will marry him for love," Bulma said softly, dipping light crusts of bread into her lunch soup. Light blue eyes turned to her husband and king across from her, awaiting his response. She was met with a slight grunt which she replied to with a roll of the eyes.

Bulma had gone straight to the dining room when the bell had announced the end of the council. She had been happy to hear it; enthusiastic to meet her husband again, now that they were on level ground once more, and she did not have to spend her life ignoring him. But the bell had also taken her away from the conversation she had just been having. With Trunks' fiancée.

She couldn't place her finger on it, but _something_ had been… off about the girl. Not to say there was mentally something wrong. Bulma had met her share of brainless, all beauty girls who came flaunting to the castle to try and capture her son's attention. This girl indeed had a pretty face, and from what Bulma could tell, a sound mind as well. But it was something different… a sort of air around her that made her stand out. She couldn't place what it was at all, and then she had made it sound like she knew something. Something about her son. But that was impossible, wasn't it? But no, it hardly was… no one knew where Trunks had gone. But maybe this girl did?

Bulma shook her head lightly, not being able to get anywhere with the girl-dilemma on her own, and made a mental note to bring the topic up to Vegeta. As soon as they had finished their current line of talk, which he had been staying some what out of.

"You think Trunks will have a problem finding someone to love?" Bulma asked, rephrasing her question. Vegeta looked up from cutting a piece of meat. He chewed it thoroughly before answering.

"Yes," was the simple, yet clear answer. Bulma scowled lightly.

"Why? What's wrong with our son?" she asked. Vegeta placed down his fork and set his elbows on the table, ignoring etiquette, and swirled the wine in his goblet slowly.

"Nothing is wrong with him."

"Well, then why won't he be able to find a girl?" she asked, her annoyance rising in attempts to defend her son. Vegeta shook his head.

"I didn't say that. He'll be able to find a girl, alright. Any girl he wants will be his no doubt. In fact, the council already sent a messenger to the towns to inform of a ball. All the ladies flock to those… perhaps he will find someone there… if he ever returns home. But finding one for… love," he seemed to scoff at the word slightly, "will be an entirely different story. I wish him luck in finding a lady that doesn't want him for the image, the bed or the power. Or all three."

Bulma blinked, taking a sip of her own wine.

"You're right of course. There really aren't that many… decent nobles." She sighed wistfully. When she had married, she never thought she would be getting gray hairs over worrying about the next queen in line, but here she was.

There was a small halt in the conversation, both king and queen eating slowly, both thinking things over in their minds. It was Bulma who spoke again first.

"What about his current bride-to-be?" she asked thoughtfully.

"She'll be excused, compensated for the let down. Why?"

"No, I mean… what about her now?"

"Now she can just wait. Wait until that blasted son of yours comes home."

"No," she repeated, "I mean… I was talking with her earlier. She seems… almost as if… she knows, things. She didn't say anything, just sometimes the look in her eyes…" Bulma wasn't sure how to bring what she had seen and thought about the girl into words. It was hard to process thoughts into speech when it was something she didn't even have a full grasp of in her mind.

Vegeta had stopped eating and was looking at her sharply.

"You think the boy told her where he was going?" he asked. Bulma shrugged.

"I don't know. All I'm saying is she seemed… agrh, I really don't know Vegeta. Forget I said it." But Vegeta was shaking his head, and twisting his jaw in thought.

"If you think there's something about the girl, there probably is. Your instincts are rarely off," he said, missing Bulma's smile at the compliment. "Why don't you talk to her again. See if you feel any different about things afterwards."

Bulma nodded at the idea. Now maybe she could find out where her son had gone. Wherever he was, she prayed he was safe and alright. Who knew what horrible tortures he could have gotten himself into…

* * *

"Glehhaa!" Trunks shouted, springing up from his former dozing position. For all of the sounds and prose sung about the utter peacefulness of the countryside, he was finding the written word very deceiving compared to reality. Blue eyes blinked up in annoyance at the figure above him.

Pan grinned.

Righting himself from the twisted arrangement of his limbs, he cast a mild glare up at the girl, which she apparently took to be an invitation to join him, as she sunk down to the ground beside him, knees tucked together. He looked at her for a moment, waiting for an explanation, but when none came, he decided to approach the subject himself.

"Any reason you kicked me in the stomach just now?" he asked cheerfully blunt. Pan blinked at him, then allowed her lips to curve into a sly smile. She offered no answer. "Right then. It's just one of those spontaneous urges to go and kick someone, whom I must note, was relaxing quite peacefully just now."

Her smile didn't falter.

"Actually, that was for your little kiss this morning," she replied, voice light and almost amused. He raised his eyebrows and switched his weight to his arm, leaning back on it.

"Give a kiss, get a kick. It's like some horrible moneylender's motto. I'd hate to see what a guy gets if they… never mind," he stopped, not quite brave enough to tweak her temper, seeing as her smile had melted, and a warning look crossed her narrowed eyes, fingers calmly picking at the blades of grass at her feet.

"Yes, well, we're even now."

"Oh?" he asked, eyebrows heightened again. She nodded, looking mildly embarrassed.

"It was horrible for you to do what you did, however-"

"For heaven's sake Pan, it was just one kiss," he retorted, exasperated. She stopped mid-word and looked at him with something akin to pity.

"I don't know how your system of royalty works, but here a kiss is pretty big. I mean, you don't just walk up to someone and plant your lips on theirs. It means things here… things that you didn't mean when you… well, anyway, it doesn't matter. Like I said; we're even."

"Alright then," he answered cautiously, not sure what Pan had said. How could a kiss mean more than a kiss? He wasn't sure how much more could possibly be written into one tiny kiss, when already he had learnt that it was a crime to give one away without encouragement or permission, and apparently, it held some deeper secret than what he knew.

He wondered if perhaps it merely meant more to them because they had such few pleasures in life, that the wondrous pleasures that kisses could bring, would naturally be considered something close to sacred. But another part of him wondered if it had something to do with Pan's adamant belief in love… and fairy tales.

Little Pan and her wish for a prince charming.

Trunks resisted a laugh.

He turned back to Pan, away from his thoughts, and allowed blue eyes to meet dark. She blinked slowly, in a way that held no meaning, long lashes brushing her lids. He shook his head fractionally.

"So, I'm forgiven for the kiss. But what about your hand, hmm? Do I have your forgiveness for that as well?" he asked, head tilted to the side, arms behind him supporting his weight. Pan looked surprised at the question, looking down briefly at her hand.

"Umm, yes, it was just an accident…" she trailed off, her awkwardness catching his attention. He hadn't exactly expected a pardon, in fact, he somewhat expected her to be beside herself at the mention of her hand. But a pardon he got, and a feeble look of embarrassment.

Acting on instinct, he let his eyes look towards the hand in question, but only caught a glimpse of it before she had hurriedly shoved it in her lap.

"So, what are you planning on doing today?" she asked, eyes looking beyond him. Trunks shook his head in annoyance at the change of subject.

"Pan… is your hand still hurting?"

"No, it's fine," she answered quickly.

"Let me see it," he said, eyes slightly narrowed, looking at the space behind her knees where he knew her injured hand rested. Pan shook her head quickly, dark hair swinging around her chin, eyes closed briefly.

"It's fine."

"You're sure?" he asked, completely unsure.

"Positive," came the reply. She smiled in a way she surely thought to be reassuring. Trunks nodded, then counted mentally to ten, waiting just long enough so that she would have put her guard down. Then he pounced.

In a second flat he had her on the ground, back against the grass, hands held tightly above her head with one hand, as his other hand held himself up so as to not lie fully on top of the girl.

Her face switched from surprise, pain, to anger.

"What are you doing?" she all but screamed. But Trunks wasn't looking at her face, and he was ignoring her protests at having him on top of her, holding her down. He was not paying any attention to the futile kicks and squirming she was doing. His eyes were on the hand he held above her head, the one that had been discussed moments before.

Fine, indeed.

He carefully moved to the side, getting off of Pan's body, while still holding onto her hand. He gently tugged on her wrist, bringing her over in a roll, before pulling her to her knees. She looked decently ruffled, her hair falling out more so than before, and a look of indignity plastered across her usual pretty features.

It didn't take long for his fingers to pry open her unresisting closed palm, and from what he saw, it looked like she hadn't done anything for the injury. The cut was etched across her palm in a straight line, the blood oozing up slower than before. She had washed it, yes, but he didn't think she had bothered to do anything else about it. He turned his gaze away from the cut to look at her face, now contorted in a kind of shame but still hard with annoyance.

"This is fine?" he asked quietly. She nodded and tried to jerk her hand away from his grasp. He held on tight. "Do you know how many sword cuts I've received in my life?"

"Do I care?" she retorted back. He threw a glare.

"A lot. And if I had just left it, you would be able to tell," he continued, ignoring her obvious lack of care. "It'll scar something horrible if you just leave it."

"Who says I would have just left it? I'll have you know-"

"Shut up, Pan," he replied kindly, bringing her wrist closer to him. Running a finger across the cut earned a slight flinch from Pan, but no additional blood. Good then, it wasn't so bad after all. He didn't think it would be – it was only a sliver from a knife. Without pause, he handed her wrist to his other hand, pulling the hem of his tunic to his teeth and pulling. The loud rip was oddly satisfying, and in a moment he had a strip of light blue material hanging from his teeth.

"You don't have to…" she stammered in protest, a protest he fully ignored. He experimentally let go of her hand, resting it carefully on his knees. She did not pull it back. Glad that he wouldn't have to force the makeshift bandage on her, he took his time, quite expertly wrapping the cloth around her fingers and palms. When a final knot was twisted, she slowly retracted the hand and looked at it with mild interest.

"It's not too tight?" he asked. She shook her head, glancing from her hand to his shirt.

"Do you think anyone will be able to see it?" she asked, head tilted, almost ignoring the fact that he had generously ripped his shirt to bandage her cut. Not that he minded… he had caused the cut after all. Perhaps now they were even on that account as well.

"See?" he asked, glad she wasn't yelling for any reason. She gestured towards her hand with her hand.

"It's your shirt. I didn't know if it would still be invisible," she explained. Trunks blinked. He hadn't thought of that. But no matter, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. If anyone saw her hand, they would only see a healing cut, and if worse came to worse, they would order her to have it bandaged properly. No harm done.

"Does it matter?" he asked, prepared to repeat his thoughts if she needed it. But she shook her head, then quirked an eyebrow with something close to amusement. Trunks was beginning to come to fear that expression of hers. Nothing good ever came of it.

"I can see your tummy," she said, smile spreading across her face again. He was, however, beginning to really enjoy her smile. He did not encourage it though, plastering a mock scowl on his face.

"I do not have a 'tummy'," he spat the word as if it were poison. "I have a 'stomach'," he corrected, looking towards his abdomen which was now bare. "And you're quite welcome to look," he added, a smirk grazing his handsome face, his hand gesturing widely at his exposed stomach. Pan looked away abruptly, making Trunks chuckle.

He kept his eyes on her, now that her own were turned away looking over the fields. Her jaw was set firmly, strongly, and it was one of the first times he noticed one of the most prominent physical differences between Pan and all the other girls he had ever met. Aside from the horrific personality, and that she blessedly did not adore pink, Pan had a body structure slightly different than those at court. Not that she was deformed in any way, her body was that of a woman, no denying, but while her skin still had a slight paleness to it, like the ladies at court, hers seemed more natural. He could only assume it was, finding it odd her skin wasn't darkened by the sun, whereas the whiteness of the ladies was mostly powders.

And of course Pan was slender – in fact she had a set of curves that he did not feel ashamed of for admiring, doubting that any man would fail to notice the figure of any woman, yet alone one that suited this girl so well. But she was slender in a way that was, once again, natural, muscle under toning every part of the girl, instead of looking half-starved as he had begun to think all woman were.

He wondered if she would look as such had she been born into a different family – wondered if her more natural beauty was a result of the genetic luck of the draw, or simply life style circumstances. He wondered if it mattered.

She was pretty. Not beautiful in the normal sense of the word, but more a classic type of beautiful. One that had to be seen by the beholder.

And that beholder was forced out of his musings as Pan turned her stare away from the fields. She fixed her own gaze on him, as he had moments before on her, as if she were silently sizing the prince up, trying to find something that may or may not have even been there.

"Pan?" he interrupted her stare, self conscious under her eyes. She blinked and focused her eyes on his. An eyebrow was raised.

"She told you to kiss me," she said suddenly. Trunks frowned.

"You know, I wish you would drop that subject, you said we were even-"

"Was that all she told you?" she asked, persistent. He unturned his lips, glad that she was bringing up the topic of the fortune teller, not the kiss again. But did she tell him anything? Not anything that mattered. She had told him to go for it, to go after Pan. And from that he had ultimately gotten a sore ear and a kick in the stomach. However, Pan wasn't waiting for a response.

"She told me something too…" she said, her voice thrown to a low whisper. Trunks thought back, remembering the girl whispering to Pan before she left. Whispering a secret to Pan that had made her surprised. Something she had thought to do with Keipher, if he recalled, but the girl had replied in the negative. Now that she brought it up, he was rather curious…

"Something that, I thought couldn't be true, but now I'm not really that sure," she went on, crawling up to him, her face now inches away from his own, her voice deep and quiet. Trunks had unconsciously begun to lean back further at the sudden closeness.

"Pan… that was only a few hours ago…" he replied, not sure what to say with her sudden change in mood. She blinked, as if just realizing this.

"I know… still…" she leaned back suddenly, looking strongly into his eyes. She nodded to herself and stood up, brushing hands down her skirt to shake off any stray dirt. Whether she found what she was looking for in his eyes or not, he wasn't sure.

"But she told you…?" he asked, when she seemed to refrain from continuing the topic. She had brought it up after all.

"I want some pie."

"She told you that you wanted pie?"

"…no. I mean I want pie now… oddly. I think you're having some horrible effect on me," she admitted, turning on her heel towards her house. Trunks stared at her, somewhat disappointed in himself that he had expected to get an answer out of her. Even only knowing her for the past day or so, he should have learnt that Pan was hypocritical and cunning. An enigma. And it suited her wonderfully.

She had already gone a dozen feet before she turned around and slapped her good hand on her knee.

"Come along, puppy. Don't you want some pie?" she called, as if her own joke amused her to no end. Trunks smiled despite himself.

As he stood up shamelessly to follow her in, he had the distinct impression that even the strongest minded person in the world would have had trouble resisting Pan's call.

* * *

Wai, you could leave a review here, yes you could.

Angel Eevee


	13. Dead Fortune

Notice: Chapters 12 and 13 were uploaded the same day. If you just went to the most recent chapter (this one) you may have skipped 12. Go back or be slightly confused.

Author's Note: See chapter one for disclaimer. Hello.

Last Time: (as if you didn't _just_ read it) Trunks bandaged Pan's hand by ripping his shirt, she forgave him for the kiss with a kick to the stomach, Vegeta sent a messenger to the towns, and at one point Trunks was on top of Pan on the ground.

**"Dead Fortune"**

Pan had stood, waiting for Trunks to rise and catch up to her, before she turned and continued walking towards the direction of the main buildings on the farm. He had caught up to her with ease, and now matched her walk stride for stride, shortening his own to match her smaller steps.

She turned her face to his, smile strewn across it. Trunks squinted against the sunlight, looking at her face. He shook his head in show, and absently rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I don't like that smile," he said, sparking a conversation. Pan's expression did not fall.

"You think I have a horrible smile?" she asked, said smile still present. He shook his head irritably, wondering vaguely if the real purpose of the curse was to teach him patience, not love.

"I didn't say that," he replied somewhat impatiently. "I just don't like when you smile a lot. Well… let's say, when you smile a lot for no apparent reason. I mean, you've been doing it almost non-stop since you came out here. Which, I might add, is quite a dramatic change from your attitude this morning."

"This morning, if _I _might add, I had just woken up from a faint after being through a horribly dramatic experience-"

"-it was just a kiss!-"

"-and furthermore, there is more to smile about now, because since then, I have not only had the pleasure of kicking you, but your shirt is also destroyed, which is amusing in a way I couldn't possibly put into words."

"Pity. I was rather hoping for an explanation about the humor of my attire."

"Quite the sarcasm. I'll get you a new shirt."

"Oh? How do you intend to do that?" he asked, with no sarcasm.

"Well, my father has been known to wear clothing the odd day," she replied, flashing him a smile that was different than the one she had been wearing recently. This one was more of sudden humor, while the others were far more secretive.

"And you don't think it will be visible?"

Pan shrugged.

"We'll see." He simply nodded to this, breaking off any conversation he might have thought to continue, noting that they were practically at the house now. He simply didn't want to risk being heard by anyone at the moment. Not that it would really be any trouble for him directly, but it would get Pan angry if she had to make more excuses to the superstitious farm help. And then in turn, would most likely take her anger out on him later. The obvious solution to avoid all of the hassle, would be just to keep quiet.

She stopped suddenly, at the path's crossroad, casting a quick glance at the kitchen, then towards her house before turning her body to face him fully. She looked at his mouth for a moment before raising her eyes to meet his own.

"You had pie this morning, yes?" she asked. He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, Pan. I had pie. I'm sure you like finding a million things daily to hold against me, but really, I mean-"

"Actually, I was just going to ask if you finished it all?"

"…no."

"Do you think you could sneak your unfinished pie there?" she asked, making a vague gesture with her thumb towards her house. He looked at her with mild skepticism.

"You want me… to steal my half-eaten pie. Wait. Me, steal a pie? Didn't you give me an earful just yesterday about stealing those pies?" he asked, hands on hips, awkwardly aware that he was in one of his mother's favourite stances.

"Yes, well," she said, a slight shrug moving over her shoulders. "This theft benefits me so…"

"And why can't you just go get it? It's your farm." Pan made a noise that, if she were anything but a 'dignified lady' surely would be considered a snort.

"Just because I am of the daughter of the owner, doesn't mean they treat me like royalty," she paused, the irony of her statement hovering between them, as she shook her head at the true royal before her. "Especially since some of those old bats have been chasing me out of there since I was old enough to walk."

"So, you want me to do your dirty work because you're too afraid to?"

"It's not like you don't want some of it too," she countered.

"Maybe I don't?" An eyebrow raised.

"You don't want pie?" she said, voice laden with sarcasm. "Yes, and the cows come home on their own."

"… don't they?" Trunks asked, looking at her oddly. She rolled her eyes.

"You get me that pie, and I'll go get a shirt for you."

"Okay… but… why don't they come home on their own? Do they forget the way easily?"

"…just go get the pie."

"But, how can you let them just graze wildly in the fields? Aren't you worried that they'll wonder off and never-"

"-now," she said with amicable anger, giving him a shove towards the kitchens, while she turned and went to pick out a shirt for him. She vaguely wondered if she could pick something out of her mother's and then convince him it was a man's outfit.

She wondered if the image would be the height of hilarity, or if it passed over that fine line and would just be down right scary.

In the end, she decided not to find out…

… today.

Trunks was quite proud of the way he maneuvered throughout the kitchens for the second time that morning. It was only his third time in that building, but he already had a feel for the lay out and the position of the handful of woman working inside.

His pie had yet to be noticed, apparently, lying where he had left it, cloth covering the scooped out pie filling. With careful looks around him, he took the pie from the counter and walked backwards, holding the pie by the ground to be less noticeable.

He was out of the kitchens before any of the women had even looked towards his general direction.

Straightening up from his crouch, he strolled to the main home with the pie in hand. He paused, eyes gazing at the wooden door, handle warn smooth with use. How could he have gotten so use to this so quickly? Would he be able to get used to home again just as swift? Yes, he assured himself, at home people waited on _him_, not the other way around.

For, just why was he getting the pie in his hand? Not for himself; but for Pan. Granted, she was getting him a spare shirt to replace his worn blue tunic. But it was only ripped because he had to bandage her hand in the first place. Of course, she only needed it bandaged because he had kissed her without permission. But that was her fault for having such inviting lips.

Yes, it was Pan's fault, no doubt, in one way or another for whatever had or would happen to him. And once he was back home, he would never have to worry about any sudden surprises or random kicks in the stomach from a tempered farm girl.

And he wasn't sure if this was good or bad.

The surprises that is, not the kicking.

Shaking his head, slightly ticked at his ability to let his thoughts wander so frequently and so off topic… not that carrying a pie was much of a topic, he walked the few steps to the door and went inside.

Either he had taken longer than he had guessed on his search and rescue mission, or Pan was just very quick with finding the, perhaps pre-chosen, garment. He set the pie down with ease on the table, noting Pan's eyes on it, guessing correctly that she hadn't eaten anything besides the berries he had made her… and those had certainly not benefited her as a whole.

She passed him the clothe draped on her arm towards him wordlessly. He took it from her hesitantly, uncertain with her lack of vocal communication. With the shirt off her hands, she gracefully folded her skirts around herself and took a seat at the well-scrubbed table.

Trunks took the seat also, unfolding the shirt in his lap. It was a simple black shirt that looked to be a pull-over, and a row of ties to keep the fabrics closed. It looked quite comfortable, he would admit. Not giving it a second thought, Trunks grasped the edges of his own tunic and pulled it hastily over his head. With the light blue fabric caught on his nose, he never saw Pan stare at him then advert her eyes quickly.

He pulled the tunic off, this time not missing Pan's reaction, which was a giggle. He shot her a look, following her line of vision towards his hair. Lifting a hand up, he could feel his hair standing up at an angle that was un-normal for it, and most surely amusing looking. Half-scowling, he attempted to smooth it down, merely admitting more giggles from the girl across from him. He gave up on his hair for the moment, suddenly aware of the fact that he was now shirtless, and it was quite possible she was laughing at his chest rather than his hair. Self-conscious, he pulled the black material and pulled it over his head, successfully flattening his hair back down as his hands could not.

He smoothed the edges carefully before looking back up at Pan for approval. He was met with the image of a head tilted, her hair spilling over one side of her face, eyes looking closely at something.

"Do you wear black often?" she asked suddenly. He shrugged lightly.

"I wear whatever, really." She looked up at this, and eyebrow quirked, lips parted in a small smile.

"Do you have someone to choose out your own clothes?" she inquired. He looked to her, and tried to put on an affronted look, without a great amount of success.

"What gives you the idea that I can't even dress myself?"

Pan shook her head, as if the question hadn't mattered, and she was unwilling to make an entire deal about it, presumably satisfied with the implied answer he had given. Her eyes were still on the shirt as she partly stood up from her chair, grasping the edges and dragging it behind her; forward. She shuffled along the floor, almost sitting on the chair which was lifted under her fingers, before she reached his side, where she dropped the chair as well as herself into it.

"You have to tie up the strings," she said, making a pointing gesture towards the ties that hung from the shirt's corners. He glanced down at them. Undone, they left the shirt open over half his chest, which was somewhat odd feeling, but he didn't think having the shirt tightly done up would be any more comfortable, so had left the strings dangling.

Pan apparently had other ideas though. She leaned over, fingering the strings and pulling them equal to each other. She leaned further in, closely examining the strings and holes where they looped. Trunks swallowed, looking down discreetly at the girl who was practically in her lap, her dark hair brushing the underside of his chin. He could smell her hair, a light scent of honey and… apricots? He breathed quietly. Yes, apricots.

Finally she leaned slightly back, seemingly finished what she needed to look at so intently, and began tugging and maneuvering the strings up the shirt. His own shirts at home usually had less primitive ways of fastening up, and he couldn't remember a time when ties had to be used, though he was sure if he had, he would not be as quick as Pan.

It was almost impressive the speed at which her slender fingers skipped up the shirt, twisting and knotting the strings. It didn't take long at all before they were all fastened. He was pleasantly surprised to find it not in the least uncomfortable. She had left them tied at such a looseness that it left his chest less exposed, but did not suffocate him in the process.

She had leaned back in her own chair as he ran his fingers over the knots gingerly. He wondered if she was so quick at it because all lower class dealt with this kind of clothing, or if it was something acquired working on a farm, or if it was merely because of her gender, and all girls had to deal with fast tying clothing. He wouldn't be surprised if it was because of a being a woman; he had seen some of the articles women had to somehow slip into, and did not envy them the job of getting dressed in the morning.

He cast her a slight thankful look, and was about to actually voice his appreciation for that as well as the shirt, and direct her towards her requested pie, when there was a quiet knock at the door.

The knocker did not wait for a reply before they pushed the door open, stepping inside and easily closing it behind them. Trunks turned in his chair and looked behind him. In the doorway stood a man much the same age as himself, though his face held a youthfulness that had never graced the prince's. His lips were formed in a smile, dark black hair falling messily around his face.

His smile broadened when his eyes landed on Pan. By Pan's reaction, the smile was apparently contagious, as she wore one of her own now. He watched her stand up and greet the man he recognized as being her uncle.

"Panny," he said by way of greeting, walking towards her. She fell into his hug with enthusiasm, his hands knotted at the base of her back, her own against his chest. He laughed and it shook her body. She pulled back and merely shook her head at him. He laughed some more, than turned to take a seat.

Pan and Trunks watched with drawing concern as it looked as if Goten would plunk himself in the chair Trunks currently occupied. Indeed, he looked straight at the chair before turning to sit in it. Trunks hurriedly slid out of the chair, not wishing to be sat on.

At least he now knew that the shirt he wore would be invisible to the world, as he had hoped. Pan seemed to be thinking much the same thing, for her eyes darted to his shirt down to his old one that was wrapped around her palm at the moment.

Showing an appreciative look for Trunks' jump from his chair, she settled back into her own looking expectantly at her uncle. By the look on her face, while his sudden appearance was welcome, Pan certainly had not been expecting it. He got to his feet and leaned against the wall behind him, waiting with mild interest to hear why he was here.

The two waited for Goten to begin, but he apparently had other priorities. He was nearly beside himself when he caught a glance at Pan's palm, and all but yanked the hand off her wrist in attempt to bring it towards himself for a closer inspection.

"What did you do to yourself?" he asked, fingers gently prodding all around the hand, trying to guess where the actual injury was. Pan tried to pull her wrist back with little success.

"I cut my palm with a knife," she answered simply, redirecting Goten's inspection from the back of her hand over to the palm.

"You father will have my head," he mumbled.

"Why?" she asked, somewhat harshly, this time succeeding in pulling her hand away from the concerned uncle. "Were you the one that cut me?"

"I should be looking out for you," he answered. Pan clutched her hand at her chest, and looked over at Goten with narrowed eyes. Trunks couldn't contain a smirk. Pan's glares were rather good when they were not directed at himself.

"Did my father tell you to watch over me?" she asked very quietly. Goten blinked at her, eyes darting the room, as if he were being interrogated and his answer could decide the fate of his life.

"Umm… no. He didn't… I mean. Panny, I just meant that I'm your uncle, and as such it's always my job to look out for you."

Pan seemed generally satisfied with the answer, because she turned her glare off, though kept a much more serious aura around her then before. Goten coughed slightly.

"It doesn't look that well mended," he said quietly. "Who did it?"

"I told you, I cut myself by accident."

"No, I meant who wrapped it up for you?"

"Oh," Pan said. "…a friend." Goten raised his eyebrows at the washy reply but made no further comment.

"Well, it could be better. Promise you fix it up properly tonight before bed. You have healing-"

"Yes, I have them, Goten. And I promise," she said, a faint smile returning, hand still clutched to her chest. Her uncle nodded, satisfied with her promise.

"Well then, I guess I'll tell you why I came all the way over here in the first place. I just thought I would stick around for a bit…"

"Why? I'm doing fine here…" Pan replied, voice neutral.

Goten shook his head.

"It isn't you. Yesterday your shadow Keipher was looking at you an awful lot. I wouldn't be surprised if he came over here today, so I just wanted to… well, with your father gone, and I know you can hold your own, but I'd just feel better if I could shove him off. I don't mean this to sound like your weak or anything, because really it's just the protective genes kicking-"

"You're too late," Pan interrupted, fingers brushing her lips for a moment before dropping. "He came by earlier this morning." Goten looked like he was going to have an attack with all of the emotions fleeting across his face. Was he angry, worried or sad, Trunks couldn't tell. He made no reply, only swallowed and bit his lower lip nervously.

"Panny, I'm so sorry. Did he do…" he looked at her carefully, recalling her fingers at her lips. Leaning forward he pulled her face into his hands. "Did he hurt you?"

"Nothing that won't mend," she answered quietly. Goten shook his head.

"I swear, I'm just waiting to catch him in the right situation and _bam_," he pounded his fist on the table. "I swear, it was just an accident, Mr. Guard. No, I have absolutely no idea. Bad luck for him to be walking in the hunting grounds, yes… well, he looked very much like a deer, Mr. Guard."

Pan shook her head and laughed.

"Goten, you couldn't murder anyone, lie about it and make it look like an accident," she said, smiling.

"Him I could," he said, but everyone in the room knew that it wasn't true. As much as Goten might have wanted to kill the man just to keep him away from his niece, his personality wouldn't allow it. And it was doubtful if Pan would forgive herself, no matter how much she despised Keipher herself.

"I'm fine here, really. There are some… unexpected body guards around already," Pan said, eyes casually glancing at Trunks' position by the wall. Goten grinned.

"Still have the farm boys wrapped around you finger, Panny?"

Pan smiled.

"They're a good lot," he said nodding slightly. "Oh! But before I forget, I thought you might want to know, the King has just announced a ball. A messenger was posting the notice as I was leaving town."

"So?" Pan raised and eyebrow.

"Well, you could go you know. Videl's title permits it."

"Again; so?"

"Think, Panny. Go there, grab someone's attention, and see if they can't nullify Keipher's hold on you." Pan shook her head.

"How do you want me to do that?" she asked, confused.

"Wearing a low cut dress and alternating between pouts and giggles?"

Pan half-choked at his reply.

"Yeah, okay Goten. You want me to use my body like some horrible wench to get my way?" she asked, not angrily, merely smiling at the bold idea, coming from her uncle no less. An idea she would have too much pride to carry out.

"If the dance shoe fits," he replied with a grin. "The date's not set, which is odd. I heard a rumor it was because the prince has mysteriously gone missing."

"Really?" Pan answered, a secretive smile on her face, eyes drawn to Trunks.

"Yes, well. Good riddens," Goten said with a laugh. "Well, seems you're fine anyway; I don't think Keipher will come by twice. And remember about your promise," he said, gesturing towards her palm. Pan nodded.

He stood up and stretched, before leaning down for a hug and walking to the door. Pan promptly swung her feet up on the chair Goten had just vacated and looked thoughtfully off into space.

Trunks left his spot on the wall and leaned on the back of his old chair.

"I wonder why they called a ball," he spoke aloud. Pan merely shrugged. "Your uncle and you get on very well," he pointed out. Pan smiled slightly.

"Yes, we're very close. He's like an older brother, really. He's always been there to look out for me. I really look up to him, you know? He's so sweet, kind, such a… complete and utter jerk!" she shouted, jumping to her feet. Trunks looked up at her in surprise.

"That idiot stole my pie!" she shrieked, looking at the spot where at least half a blueberry pie had sat, that was now bare.

"I can feel the love," he replied dryly. Pan glared.

"You know what this means?"

"I'm not the only person that steals pie?"

"It means you're going to have to go and steal another one."

Trunks laughed.

"Yeah, and you think I'm joking," Pan replied, walking out of the kitchen.

* * *

The man took a quick swig from his glass, eyes blurring from the tangy contents, before giving a polite belch, entwining chubby fingers around the now empty cup. The bar tender looked up, sensing a needed-refill like a vulture sensing blood, and with a quick nod from his questionable customer, he poured the misty liquid into his glass.

The bar was more high class than the usual pub, and under normal circumstances he might have discouraged any further business with that sort of man. However, the embodied crest of the royal family rested on his sleeve, and the bartender was not foolish enough to turn away a king's messenger. Even if said messenger smelled horribly of fish and other ingredients that were familiar but he couldn't place a name to; ingredients that no doubt were for some substance he had been near while it was being concocted.

He had served many a drunkard in his lifetime, and he had come to recognize people for what they were, and even their possible secrets before they got to the point of drunkenness to tell him what he guessed anyway.

This man was too clumsy with his glass, his fingers just a tad too uneven in movement, and his eyes too slow moving to be the creator of the spell he reeked of. Nor was he the victim of whatever had been created. He had merely watched, or perhaps now held the spell with him, waiting to set it off on its desired victim.

The smell made him uneasy, and he couldn't help but keep a constant eye on him, not wanting his questionable business, but not daring to turn him away either. Sighing, he turned to another waiting customer, his eye's corner watching him carefully.

The man in question took another swig of his drink, thin drops splashing down his chin as he did so. He dropped his eyes on the swirling drink, and seemed quite prepared to get lost in them, but was interrupted by the shuffling of a stool beside him. He turned his beaky eyes to his side, looking at the newcomer.

He was somewhat surprised to see a woman occupying the chair, one with a pretty face, and the looks of crimson hair tied up in handkerchiefs and shawls. One look and he could label her as a fortune teller, just by her garb, but a harder pressed look, and a more reaching feel, and he could guess that she was actually good at what she did.

Yes, he could sense it on her. Even in his slightly intoxicated state (just why had he needed to drink so much? One would have sufficed…) he could practically smell her talent on her and what she had of late predicted, just as he was sure he presently reeked of the spell he had gotten his little soon-to-be-if-all-went-well-princess to make.

She had traveled from the country. She had told a close friend how to find happiness… who she would find romance with. A nameless friend with no accountable future. She had talked to a man too… had encouraged him with romance as well. How quaint.

He was about to turn his mind completely away from the girl and finish his drink when the pressing image of just who this man had been was burned on the back of his mind.

The prince?

Squinty eyes turned to her in a heart beat. She was smiling at the bartender in thanks for her drink, carefully turning the contents between her fingers. It took mere moments for her to feel his gaze, and she turned eyes to him that saw things even he couldn't. He continued to stare.

"I beg your pardon," she murmured, a faint crimson running across her cheekbones matching her hair. He coughed a pardon, before bringing a hand quickly to her face. Her eyes went momentarily cross-eyed as she followed his hand, never blinking as he snapped them abruptly by her nose.

Her eyes glazed and he turned more on his stool. He would have to be quick; if she had any sort of power, which she seemed to have, it wouldn't last long. Someone with the Sight could not be held for very long.

"Where is the prince?" he asked seriously.

"With Pan," came the monotonous reply, her eyes staring unseeing just over his shoulder.

"Who is Pan?" he asked, confused.

"The girl he is with," she answered. He blinked at her saucy reply, wondering how… she was fighting his hold already. Curses upon her, she knew where he was… just tell!

"Where does Pan live?"

"On a farm."

"What farm!"

"Excuse me sir, but I have to ask you to leave the young lady-"

"What farm!" he yelled again, ignoring the persistent bartender that had now walked over and was trying to pull him away from the woman.

But no answer would come. The girl had blinked and was looking dark daggers at him. Her jaw was set, and she looked like she was prepared to take a swing at him. He pulled his hand away and stood from his stool; tossing coins on the counter.

"You may have kept some answers away, but it won't take me long to find out who this Pan is."

"I'm sure it won't," her eyes glaring away. He looked at her for a moment. She may try to warn this Pan… he could always follow her. But then she may just flee in another direction, hoping that he would follow her.

No, she was a pain in any way he looked at the situation. She could be of no further help, and it annoyed him that she had shooed him from her mind so quickly. He didn't like being shown up. He smiled. Well, now he would show her...

The bartender watched the man leave, extremely grateful that he was gone. There was a bad aura around the man, and he hadn't liked what he had seen of him. Especially how he had almost possessed that girl…

She stared back at him for a moment before speaking.

"I told her that she was the one that would be leaving. I guess I was wrong…"

In a second she fell slummed across his counter, drink still clutched in her hands. Her hair falling from its handkerchief, splashing dark wisps of crimson across her pale face, set in an expression of acceptance. Her eyes did not blink, her chest did not breathe, and her skin would start to turn cold soon enough.

He cast a look to the door where the man had exited, than back to the girl that now lay dead at his bar. Somehow, he was not surprised.

* * *

I had no plans to kill her, just decided to spontaneously at the end of that scene. shrugs Goodbye fortune teller-lady. You got Trunks to kiss Pan, so you must not have been all that bad. Please give me some sort of feedback. Tell me where you want this to go.

Angel Eevee


	14. Win Win, Pan

**A/N: **see chapter one for disclaimer. This was just one of those chapters that refused to be written. It's April Fools and it snowed this morning. curses weather

**Last Time:** Trunks stole his half-eaten pie from the kitchen, Pan dressed Trunks, Goten made an appearance, telling of the dance-notice he saw in town, and the fortune-teller was killed.

**"Win-Win, Pan"**

Trunks sniffed and shifted under her gaze. Pan refused to move her stare from him.

"What?" he finally asked in exasperation and uneasiness.

"I'm just waiting for my pie," she said simply. Trunks rolled his eyes.

"You really want me to go steal you another one?" he asked, regarding her seriously. "Are there any left? I mean, just how many pies does one farm make a day? Why are so many made anyway?"

"They're sold in town," she said, very matter of fact, as if it should have been the most common knowledge in the world. "And no, I don't need you to steal me one… I don't think you finished the one I made last night," she said, trailing her voice off, as she turned and looked around the kitchen for the covered pie.

"Why didn't you just eat that in the first place then?" he asked, sending her a mild glare, leaning back in the wooden chair, arms folded across his chest.

"Because the kitchen ones are still warm," she replied, facing away from him, reaching into a very deep cupboard. She pulled herself out, jug in hand, and carried it along with a bowl containing a good sized slice of left over apple pie to the table.

She took her seat again, and lifted the cover from the jug, pouring its contents over her pie and filling the bowl. Trunks wrinkled his nose in a state of horror.

"What are you pouring over my lovely pie?"

"I am pouring milk over _my_ pie," she said, not looking up, and attacking the bowl with a spoon, bringing chunks of pie and dripping milk to her mouth.

"That is… disgusting," Trunks whispered. Pan looked up, milk sliding down her chin, mouth full and shot him a questioning glance. She moved to reply but Trunks quickly held up his hand. "Don't you dare talk with that stuff still in your mouth."

Pan chewed and swallowed before replying.

"Don't shoot something down if you have no idea what it tastes like. That is so like you."

"Excuse me?" he asked, bringing his chair back from its two-legged lean. "I don't need to try it. It _looks_ disgusting, and the way you're inhaling it does nothing for its appeal. I mean, you're desecrating it by adding that milk."

"Desecrate? It's pie, not a god. Besides, it's fresh milk."

"From these cows that never come home?"

Pan laughed.

"Really. Why can't they come home?"

"Because cows aren't that smart," she replied, twirling her spoon around the bowl.

"… so, if you were to be called a cow, it could be taking a swing at your intelligence, not just your body size?" Trunks asked. Pan froze, her spoon half-way to her mouth, moving dark eyes slowly upwards. She placed her spoon down, and bit her lip, smiling at the almost comical nervousness in the prince's voice.

"Did someone call you a cow?"

"No! I mean… no." Pan raised an eyebrow, trying desperately not to laugh out loud at him.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to call you stupid," she said truthfully. Trunks still looked mildly insulted, his cheeks splashed with a hint of red.

"Well, they weren't calling me fat, I mean look at this," he said, running his hands down his side, emphasizing the slimness of his torso.

"Cows are also sloppy, lazy and slow," Pan offered, which was received with a scowl.

"I never said anyone called me a cow anyway," he said, folding his arms again, and looking away like a pouting child.

Pan smiled and finished her pie.

She blinked, eyebrows raised, trying to stop her mouth from gaping.

"What do you mean he's not here?" she asked, looking sternly at the guard. The guard clenched his jaw, as if irritated by the girl's question, but not daring to talk crossly to the future queen.

"As I said, my lady, he left on royal business. To post the king's announcement of the upcoming-"

"Yes, but… are you sure it was _him_?"

"Yes, my lady," the guard replied with an exasperated sigh. She turned away; long dress swishing at her ankles.

She walked slowly down the hallway, eyes cast downward, brow furrowed in thought. Her fingers brushed the bottle hidden at her side. It was odd for her 'master' to leave. Odd for him to leave when he had been so concerned about her finishing the love spell. Odd that he wasn't there to see it complete.

She bit her lip. She didn't need to consult her magic to know that something was going wrong. Something that she wouldn't be able to fix. She could only pray that the prince was taking care of himself, and using his protected time as he could.

"It's funny, actually," Pan murmured, stretching absently, dropping back on the grass, hands over her head, eyes closing against the afternoon sun. Trunks glanced down at her from his spot leaning back against the hard oak tree.

"What's funny?" he asked, blue eyes turned back towards the pond in front of them, the ripples of the water lapping against the shore line, creating a soothing and tiring background noise.

"The way my parents acted about leaving me here alone. They made such a deal about how I was responsible enough and so on, but… well, this place practically runs itself."

"Ah," Trunks returned his gaze to the girl stretched out beside him. "You accuse me of being lazy, but look, you just said yourself that you don't have to do anything here. Looks to me like I'm not the only one that gets to sit around all day. …Not that I do, mind you… I'm a very…"

"Productive prince, I'm sure. No, you missed my point. I'm only wallowing in jobless bliss because I'm in charge. See, it's for a few days, right, so I don't have to worry about the long term decisions, because the workers can handle anything until my father gets back.

"_But_, I also don't have to do my regular chores and such. So, really, it's like… a few days of freedom," she finished off, shaking her head, a smile plastered across her face, eyes still closed to the bright sky. Trunks returned his own eyes to her.

"You speak like a few mere days are heaven."

"Sometimes they are." She opened her eyes at this, bringing her hand to shield out the sun, the blue material from Trunks' old tunic standing out against her pale hand. "I guess my father thought I deserved it. After all, I did spend a day of my life trying to convince _you_ of all people to have a heart." Trunks rolled his eyes.

"You know what, Pan? I am a prince. I am leaning back against this tree. I don't have to worry about a single thing at this moment. And I'm not going to let you spoil it by bringing up something I did ages ago… if two days can be considered… ages… yes. Well, anyway. I'm here now, and I'm just going to ignore you if you decide to get all snooby about something that I said I would fix."

Pan raised her eyebrows from underneath her shielded hand.

"Did you just say '_snooby'_?" Trunks blinked.

"…no?"

Pan laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, Trunks decided. She sat up abruptly, the remains of the laughter still present on her face. She looked at him for a moment, before turning to the pond, as if something wild had just occurred to her. She turned back, the breeze having furthered messed up her already disheveled hair. It brushed playfully across her face, causing her to pull it away, revealing that her smile had not yet disappeared.

"Will you swim now?" she asked, in a voice that sounded as if she had been running a distance.

"What?" he asked, pushing his own lavender hair off his face.

"I said I would teach you how to swim," she reminded him.

"My father is holding a ball."

"Yes, I heard. Now don't change the subject," she scolded. He shook his head.

"I was just wondering if you were going to go."

"Have you ever seen me at any of your other dances?" Trunks shook his head again. Truthfully, that was what had had sparked his question. Her uncle had said that her title allowed her to go, and he agreed, but he never recalled seeing her. Not that he would have noticed her if she hadn't crowded up around him in hopes to get a dance. And judging from what he had learned about her in the past day, he didn't see her as the type to really do that.

He frowned.

"No, you've never gone have you. Why?"

Pan shrugged.

"You could guess, I'm sure. I don't fit in with those wimpy ladies at court."

Trunks nodded slightly. Yes, he could have guessed that was her reason. Pan had looked down. Fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress absently, bottom lip held under a row of teeth, dark eyes avoiding him all together.

"Well, you could go to this upcoming one," Trunks said simply. Pan looked over at him.

"I don't have any reason to go…"

"… I'll be there."

"You're the prince. You're _always_ there."

"Yes, but, you'll know me. Besides, look. It won't be held until I get back, so you can just… it's the perfect solution. You'll be there so that we can settle everything with the money and your farm, and if you stick with me, then I won't have to try to fend off chest-throwing girls. 'Cause I can dance with you. Win-win, Pan."

Pan shifted her jaw, though Trunks wasn't sure if it was in anger or thought.

"Alright, I'll go to clear things up about my home. But I'm not going to dance."

"Why?" he asked quickly, causing Pan to raise her eyebrows. "I mean, besides taking some morbid delight in my suffering alone, what other reasons?"

She continued to finger the hem of her dress. Trunks smirked.

"You don't have… a dress?" he asked. Pan blinked.

"No. I have the money too, if that's what you're getting at."

"So there's some other reason."

"Maybe I do just take a morbid delight."

"Maybe…"

It was possible that Pan had an evil streak, but he had a feeling there was something else. He would like to say it was just because he was a brilliant man, and he had second intuition to almost everything. But in reality, he had spent his entire life shadowed by a father who made exploiting weaknesses an art. All he had to do was fine the weakness Pan was hiding… ah, he had learnt well.

He allowed himself a small smirk before leaning forward, tilting his head to try and catch Pan's eye, hair falling messily from behind his ear.

"You don't know how to dance, do you?" he asked, his smirk deepening despite himself. Pan turned her face further away, eyes shut, mouth scowling and a faint blush across her nose.

"There's no reason I would _need_ to know how to dance. Do you see many occasions for dancing here?" she asked, turning to him, gesturing with her arms.

The two stared at each other, Pan's face set in an almost angry defense, but Trunks' was calculating.

"Okay. Then I will teach you how, and you will have no reason why not to go, right?" he asked, leaning forward further, so far that if he leaned any further he would fall on his face. "It only seems fair. You're going to teach me how to swim… I'll teach you how to dance."

Pan turned to him fully, Trunks pulling back to avoid knocking heads. She looked at him carefully before smiling slightly and nodding.

Trunks smiled himself, hopped to his feet and held out a hand to help Pan to hers.

"So you'll let me teach you to swim? You promise?" she asked. Trunks grimaced, but nodded.

"Dancing first," he said. "You have to learn quicker than I'll have to. Seeing as how a dance will be held in a matter of days, whereas, I don't believe there is some massive water conference at the end of the week."

Pan had been nervously brushing down her skirts, but paused and looked up, smiling, at his slight joke. He cautiously held out a hand, at such an angle that it could only be for dancing. She moved to take it, but stopped herself, casting a glance behind her.

"Not here… someone would see me dancing alone…"

He considered making a jab about how she had surely done stranger things, or commenting on some other low class joke that would send her anger levels haywire. But she was already almost jumpy, lip constantly being chewed, hands fidgeting in front of her. He wasn't sure if she was nervous about dancing, nervous about being caught, or maybe just being taught something new.

Or maybe it was because of him… Little Miss Pan - finding it hard to be near him, like he was finding it hard with her. But if he was just teaching her something as straightforward and automatic as dancing, he would be able to control himself. Though she may not be able.

Not to say that he expected her to madly throw her arms around him in a spontaneous act of love and commence with lust driven acts of affection… that was too much to expect even from a hormonal hermit. But he did expect this dance lesson to be interesting… more so than he thought it could be only yesterday.

And so, deciding to let the possible jibes at her nervousness remain unsaid; he cast his cerulean eyes around him in a quick gesture before they landed on what he was looking for.

"There?" he asked, drawing her attention, and pointing to further along the pool, where the thick forest would shield her from view. She nodded without much thought to the location, but made no move to walk there until Trunks made his.

Once hidden away, she cast her own safety glance, only returning her eyes to him when she felt that it was safe to be dancing with an invisible partner. Trunks coughed slightly.

"Okay," he whispered, lacking anything intelligent to say at the moment. His hand was held out again, and this time it was taken. Pan's bandaged hand was light in his, as if she were only letting it hover, the soft tips of her fingers brushing over the back of his hand.

He gently reached down and took her other hand, placing it on his arm, before letting his own free hand brush down and rest at her hip. He could almost hear Pan swallowing.

"Just follow my feet, okay?" he murmured, getting a mere nod in response.

He stepped to the left first, bringing his other foot along to his side, then back, to the side, forward, left again, back, to the side, forward, left – it was so simple. Pan would be getting it in no-

"Ow! Bloody-"

"Ah! Argh, I'm sorry. I knew I'd be useless at this," Pan said angrily, the first words she had spoken since the 'dance' had started. She tore her arms away from his and stepped back.

"I can't do this," she said, shaking her head.

"Pan, you only stepped on my foot. Once. I've been hurt worse." But Pan just shook her head, turning to walk away. A quick grasp to her arm stopped her in her march. "As if you would let me quit if the roles were reversed," he said, pulling her back to him.

Pan folded her arms across her chest and looked up at him. He tilted his head to the side before giving a nod.

"Take off your shoes."

"What?" she asked, confused at the sudden order.

"Take off your shoes," he repeated, annunciating each word. She raised an eyebrow but oddly complied. It didn't take her overly long to unlace her shoes and casually toss them to the side. She was left standing in the soft grass with just bare feet, the thin green strands tickling at the bottom her toes.

"What now, Mr. Dance-Master?"

"Stand on my feet."

"What?" she asked again, voice still carrying the tone of confusion.

"Are you even awake? I don't want to have to repeat myself twice for everything," he said jokingly. "Come here and stand on my feet."

"Why?" she asked, not moving from her spot.

"I'll dance with you on my toes, that way your feet will get used to the step pattern. It takes a while for your feet to get comfortable with the movements."

Pan frowned, hands back over her chest, and her eyes darted from his face to his feet. She seemed to be contemplating what to do, but her decision was obvious, as she walked up to him.

He grabbed both of her hands for support as she leaned in to get balance on his toes. Once she was on, he rearranged the hold he had on her hands, placing her hands behind his neck, curled together to hold on. He let his own hands rest at the back of her waist, not being able to hold arms properly in their current position.

"And here we go," he said softly, moving his legs in the steps he knew so well. It was second nature to him, but looking down he could see Pan being almost half-amazed at the steps her own feet were taking on account of where they stood.

Her mind was working to memorize the routine he was teaching her. Her mind was so solely concentrated that she didn't even notice herself leaning ever-so-slightly back before-

"Eek!"

"Whoah," Trunks commented, reflexes grabbing Pan before she fell to the ground. Pan shook her head to right herself before looking up at him. "You slipped off," he explained lightly, if she hadn't noticed her feet slipping from his own. The angle her heels hit the ground had thrown off her balance and she was grateful for the prince's catching skills, though decided to leave that thank-you to herself.

Trunks didn't seem in the least bit deterred from his goal, even though she had already stepped on his feet and had almost fallen quite painfully to the ground. While it seemed like she was getting nowhere, there was just a feel to the way she moved that he knew it wouldn't last forever.

Just a sense that she could learn to dance quickly and efficiently. It was in her posture, her grace, her coordination… she had the potential; he just needed to get it to click. All it would take would be that one moment when her body and mind connected and her limbs would act the way she instructed them to. That's all dancing was. To get that connection to click, and once it had, the rest was completely down hill.

He spread his arms in a gesture that he was ready to start again. She looked at him mildly quizzically, as if he were mad for wanting to try _again_ to get her to dance. Nonetheless, she cautiously stood up to him again, and placed her feet on his own. Arms hung around his neck, slightly tighter, in hopes of hanging on better this time.

She was a bit surprised to feel the hands around her waist tighten and pull her body right up to his.

"Don't want you falling off again," he murmured quietly, something she picked up easily being in such proximity with his mouth. Her face was practically stuffed against his chest, causing her to move it to the side for vision and air.

Hands brought her impossibly closer, allowing her for no other position but to lean her cheek against his chest soundly.

Eyes drifted close, from both of them, and the two stood rocking and stepping slowly in each others arms to no particular rhythm. The assigned foot steps all too quickly left behind.

* * *

Goten walked casually through the streets, humming an annoying tune that was stuck in his head. One that some plump baker's wife had been singing, not only loudly, but also horribly off key, and was now etched into his mind, forcing him to hum it along. Not that he minded.

Goten liked to hum. Never sing; he was above subjecting the general public to his singing voice. In fact, ever since a few years ago when he had been caught by Pan singing at the pond and she had refused to stop laughing for the days that followed, he had refrained from singing at all, in public or private.

But humming was safe. Everyone could hum.

Besides, Goten liked to hum when he was in a good mood. And he was generally in a good mood at the moment. Sure he had just made an entire trip to his old home, in hopes of playing hero to his niece, only to discover that it was too late. _He_ had already been there.

Pan had been hurt. Whether from Keipher or some other source, he didn't know. But she hadn't been worried. He had seen it in her eyes; she was fine with the whole thing. He was used to looking at Pan, seeing past her obvious feelings. She wasn't one to wear her feelings on her sleeve, but she wore them in other places. He didn't think she even realized that he was able to see through her. She didn't clue in, that when things at home got shifty, her parents called him in to see what was the matter with her.

Because a lie didn't get past him.

Not the lies that counted anyway.

Goten would admit truthfully that he was a rather gullible man, and was victim to many pranks that could have been avoided, but when it came to push and shove, when it was things that really mattered; he would not be fooled.

So, yes, he could tell that when Pan said she was okay, yes, she was okay. However…

Goten paused in his humming, a silly smile spreading over his face.

Unexpected bodyguards, indeed. She had smiled, glancing in a direction where there was nothing to look at. The glance did not go unnoticed. Goten had made some remark to Pan about the farm boys there. True, she had always had a way with the boys at the farm. It was something that Gohan, his brother, should have been prepared for. You couldn't have a young, pretty girl walk around a farm without the boys turning their heads.

But Goten had seen that smile before. Seen it on his brother, seen it on Videl, even on his own parents. Whoever Pan was smiling about, was not _just_ a farm boy.

In fact, he had a feeling it might not even _be_ a farm boy…

But then who?

He really couldn't think of anyone that Pan would have seen or known of…

"Son!"

Goten was yanked out of his thoughts by the sudden yell from behind him. Turning, he caught a hand on the back, and a grin on the face in front of him. He smiled slightly; it was just a friend from town.

"Hi," he said curiously, noticing the small woman attached to his friend's arm.

"Yeah, 'hi' to yourself. You looked off in another place just now." Goten laughed.

"Just came from the old farm. You know, checking up on my little niece Pan." The friend raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah? But seems to me, that she really isn't that little anymore," the friend said, eyes cast in his head, as if counting the years Goten's niece would be. Goten regarded his friend in mock suspicion. "But really, is she still free?" he asked, head tilted to the side.

"Officially yes, unofficially… well, you know women," Goten replied.

"Yes. Yes, I do," his friend said, casting his eyes to the one at his side. He cleared his throat before looking back to Goten. "Well, I have to be… off. Say hi to Pan for me, the next time you see her," he said, throwing a light wave behind him as he walked off, the girl skipping beside him.

Goten shook his head in mild amusement, before gathering himself and turning to continue on his way. He was generally shocked to see someone blocking his path. The man was a good two heads shorter than himself, and looking up at him from a set of numerous layers of cloth.

"Pardon me, sir," the voice came. "I couldn't help but overhear… I am in the process of looking for the right direction to get to Miss Pan's farm…"

Goten looked at the man for a moment. How thick did the guy think he was? He wasn't really planning on disclosing the location of Pan to some stranger, not when… hold on. On the man's sleeve was sewn the proud emblem of the royals. He looked back at the face – the man was from the castle. But why would he want to see Pa- Oh! Pan had gone to the castle the other day, had she not? In order to discuss her farm with the prince. Perhaps this man had something to do with that.

"Does this have to do with her complaint at the castle?" he asked. The man blinked, and cast his eyes quickly from side to side.

"Complaint?"

"Yes. Pan was at the castle the other day, regarding her farm-"

"Oh yes. I have news from the king regarding the issue. Some of the things discussed were left… unresolved." Goten smiled.

"So you're going to put things right? That's great. Well, it's nearing evening; I wouldn't try and make the trip tonight. Not if you don't know the paths. But tomorrow, just follow there," he turned, pointing towards a less-traveled path, seen above the edge of the town.

"Much thanks," the man replied, while Goten nodded.

Goten walked off, his mind on dinner. The other man followed the path with his beady eyes, deciding to take the young man's advice and wait for the next day. And then, he would go see this Pan. This Pan that he knew had something to do with the prince. The silly fortune girl had said as much.

But she had been so reluctant, too. No matter. Should this Pan have the same unwilling tongue, she would find herself in the same predicament as the palm reader in the bar.

Dead.

* * *

Woot. (that goes out to Reikon) And I leave off with psycho-killer knowing where Pan lives. Thanks for the suggestions last chapter, most people just wanted them to go to the dance, but I don't know if I can promise that, so you can have them sort of dance by the pond instead. Yee.

Angel Eevee


	15. When it Rains

**A/N: **see chapter one for disclaimer. This weekend I was watching _Spirited Away_ and the 'bad guy' controls people by holding their name, quite similar to how my bad guy is doing that to Trunks' fiancée. I swear, I didn't steal this from them. Though that movie is excellent and I have fallen in love with it. Watch it, ooh you want to.

**Last Time: **More pie was eaten, an insightful discussion about cows, Pan and Trunks make a compromise on who will teach the other; Trunks dancing and Pan swimming. Pan starts out roughly but ends up snuggling against invisible Trunks, which isn't that bad of a deal. And that crazy fortune-teller-killer knows where Trunks and Pan are, and he's coming to get them. insert _Jaws_ music

**"When it Rains"**

It was the sharp contrast between burning hot to a soothing cool that woke him up. Blinking eyelids over blue, he tried to let his mind catch up with his body. He had always taken a slightly negative view on how the human body woke itself after a sleep. Something would awaken him physically, but his mind took minutes to catch up, and then his eyelids would doubtless still be heavy by the time his mind caught up. It was a contradiction and very annoying.

He remembered dancing. Oh yes, dancing with Pan. Slim body pressed against his, calm warm breath skittering across a borrowed shirt, an almost non-existent breeze dodging through the trees, blowing the occasional leaf onto their dance floor.

The sun had been too far up, and Pan had laughed hard at being so stupid.

"Never be outside when the sun is overhead," she had said, shaking her head. She had placed a hand on her head, wincing at the heat coming from it. Her nose was slightly scrunched, and she made a comment that they had both probably burned their heads.

Shade was the best thing, according to her, so they had ended the dancing, as it really was no longer necessary. Pan had learnt it. She had made it to that point where her body and mind could work together and the steps clicked with her. An odd sense of pride came out of this for him.

Tired, the two had walked to the nearby trees, plunking down underneath their protective branches. It hadn't been long before the two were slumbering, sleeping the rest of the afternoon away. Perhaps it was the discomfort of sleeping on the ground the night before that had made them both in need of a little midday nap.

Whatever the reason, they _had_ both fallen asleep under the tree. But now that he was awake, as a result of the cool breeze that seemed to blow up out of nowhere, rushing through his hair and soothing the slightly burnt spot that surely was there. The chill had awakened him, and his mind was caught up, and he most definitely noticed something amiss.

Where Pan had been sleeping an arms' length away was an empty spot. Some bent blades of grass were the only testament that she was ever there in the first place.

He blinked again, sitting up on one elbow. It didn't take long before he knew where she was, the sounds of her voice catching in the wind as it might in an echoing cave. He turned his head towards the pond where he could see her for sure.

She was standing in the pond, her face turned away from him. Leaning down so that her hair was falling over her shoulder, covering her face so that even if she were angled differently, he wouldn't be seeing her face anyway.

Pan straightened before drooping fully down, the water level at her neck, and by the dripping hair, it was apparent that she had been in the pool for a good deal of time. She was humming and occasionally breaking off into soft singing, but he didn't recognize the tune.

Trunks sat fully up, folding his knees together, leaning on an arm as he watched her quietly. She had swung onto her back, her eyes closed facing the darkening sky, arms stroking from above her head to her sides and back again in slow graceful movements, occasionally kicking her legs. Trunks could see the now transparent hem of her dress with each slow kick, and he wondered how heavy the outfit must be to swim in, even after taking note of the outer layers lying by the shoreline.

When a stronger wind lashed through the protective line of trees that they had earlier used to hide from prying eyes, he shivered, and wondered how she could not feel cold… shouldn't her wet exposed skin be freezing?

As if on cue, the wind rushed once more across her face, her eyes opening suddenly, voice breaking from her hum to gasp and her body doing an almost comical sit up. Her feet touched bottom and she stood up, eyes searching the sky, arms held tightly around her chest. Even with her back to him, he could see that the remainder of her clothing could not even begin to keep her warm, yet she stood firmly in the middle of the pool, head turned upwards.

He followed her gaze, to notice since he had awoken, that the once cheery blue sky had turned a violent gray quite quickly. He narrowed his eyes slightly, recognizing the dark sky, wind and moisture in the air for what it was. He wondered if Pan could possibly not know what was coming.

But she didn't seem to be looking at the sky. Of course her eyes were turned in that direction, but it didn't look as if she were actually looking at it. As if she knew his thoughts, she turned her head slightly, reaching a hand out to grab at something in the air, showing Trunks that yes, she had been looking at something other than the sky.

Whatever was in her hand was brought towards her face, head tilted down, eyes half-lidded, as she spoke softly to it. He raised an eyebrow, leaning to the side from where he sat to get a better view of what she was doing. She seemed satisfied with whatever she said, for she brought her hand away and held it at arms length, slowly opening her palm.

A small petal flew from her hand, caught in a wild breeze and flung away from the pool. Her dark eyes followed it until she would have to squint to see it. Trunks stared at her in curiosity. Was he just slightly mad or was she perhaps some sort of priestess in her own right? He had seen the possessors of the arts whisper to nature sometimes, and truthfully, he couldn't say he would be surprised if she did have the power. He didn't think anything about Pan could shock him now. Except perhaps if she confessed to having some secret fetish towards earth worms.

Though anyone having a fetish with earth worms would surprise him.

… earth worms are gross and smell horrible when stepped on. No decent human should enjoy them.

He shook his head, stopping any more inane thoughts. Pan seemed finished because she brought her arms back across her chest, turned, and began to make her way back to shore, her dress trudging in the water.

He found it somewhat disappointing that a darker material had been sewn in all the important places, so no transparent cloth was placed over them. Though he was rewarded with a full view of her legs, as the lower skirt had been all white – and he could safely conclude that she had very nice legs. But, after thinking, it was a rather one sided opinion, as he couldn't say he had ever really seen any other women's legs before, as they were all hidden beneath layers and layers of cloth.

He stood up, stretching his back which gave a satisfying crack, and swinging his arms to his sides, trying to get the knots out of his body before walking over where Pan was exiting the water.

She looked up at him as he neared, clearly wondering how long he had been awake.

"Were you watching me?" she asked, arms tightening.

"Define watching," he murmured, bending down and picking up the outermost of her dresses and passing it to her. She took it from him quickly and pulled her arms through the holes, fingers tying the sides and front together with a repetitive gesture.

"Were you staring at me swimming?" she asked again, glancing up before bending down to pick up the remainder of her clothing.

"I woke up when you were finishing up," he replied, voice trailing off. She raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

"I once heard a story as a child that if you send a flower petal with a wish to the wind, it would come true," she said, feeding his curiosity. She was merely wish-making then; no mysterious magical background.

"What did you wish for?"

"Are you mad? Can't tell you or it won't come true."

"What?"  
"Won't come true."

"Really?" he asked perplexed. Pan blinked at him.

"…yes."

"Hn. No wonder our Wishing Well never did me any good as a child." Pan's eyes widened and smiled.

"You told people your wish?" she asked, a small giggle making its way into the sentence. Trunks frowned, and she stopped laughing, the frown on his face a different one than she had seen before. She was used to the one he had when angry or upset with her, but this frown was entirely different.

He looked beyond her shoulder for a moment; eyes unfocused as if he were wondering how many other childhood memories and wonder were spoilt to him because no one had taught him the rules to the game. He blinked suddenly and his blue eyes returned to Pan.

"Maybe we should go back…"

"Yeah," she agreed, looking up. "A storm is going to brush us I think," she said, and no sooner the sky echoed with a large boom, a far off lightening flashing.

Pan jumped and made a squeak. The clothes in her arms were brought to her chest protectively and she shifted on her feet rather nervously.

"Let's go," she said, marching at a quick pace towards the house. Trunks followed mutely, wondering where his pleasant afternoon had disappeared to.

* * *

She ran her fingers through her hair in a nervous manner, eyes squinting and neck stretched as her gray-blue eyes scanned as far as vision would allow. She flopped back to the flats of her feet, bringing a hand to act as a visor for her eyes, out of automatic habit rather than to shield the hidden sun.

Things were beginning to go horribly wrong. She had thought that she had all of her bases covered. When she had been ordered to marry the prince to be later used as a pawn to her master's bidding for the country, she had decided to change his plans a bit.

Because there was no way she could truly marry Trunks. And it had nothing to do with looks or power; for he had them both, and she wouldn't pretend she was virtuous enough not to be attracked to the material qualities. But she wouldn't be able to live with him based on money and a cute face. Because that face would one day wrinkle, and money would only go so far.

Besides, he really was a snob.

No, if she ever married someone, it would not be by force, and certainly not by the force of _him_ of all people. The slimy man she had to call 'master' because he had managed to get a hold over her name and powers. No, she couldn't revolt against him with the conditions placed on her, but she could tweak with his orders to a point.

As long as she didn't get caught… which in retrospect she had.

Light fingers reached up and brushed the still strong bruise across her cheek. She knew it wasn't visible, but she could feel the soreness even just by her finger tip brush.

He had been so angry to discover how she had messed with his plans. Sending the prince away with a spell slapped on him. She had thought it would work… but then she had been ordered to make that love spell. So anything he learnt while invisible would be useless if some well placed ingredients would take away his will to love freely.

But even that was just a set back. Somehow, she could find a way around it, surely. However, if she wanted to bend the rules, she needed to do it within the bounds of his magical contract over her. She had to do it with a vague permission of sorts; do it while he was here to stop her, so if she got away with it, it was truly his fault for not paying attention to his little minion.

But how could she possibly try to tamper the spell or change the assured outcome of this whole mess? He wasn't even here. She couldn't do a thing until he was at least back at the castle.

But her eyes saw nothing.

The useless guard had said that he had left that morning. Surely he should be back by now. Where was he? What was he doing?

She bit her lip. Something about this was _so _utterly wrong.

"If you're hungry I'm sure the kitchens are still open, there's no need to resort to chewing your lip off."

She whirled around, releasing her lip self-consciously from her teeth. The lip returned to her teeth when she saw who stood in front of her; hands folded, head tilted and a warm smile.

"Your majesty," she whispered quietly. The queen shifted her hands, pulling a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Hello. What are you up to?" She shifted, chewing her lip like mad. "Only, I saw you looking quite intently…" the Queen trailed off, eyes looking momentarily to where hers had originally been.

She nodded.

"Oh, yes. I was just looking for…"

The Queen raised an eyebrow.

"For…?"

"Well, I don't think he's coming back yet," she said off-handedly.

"Trunks?"

"Pardon? Uh- no," she murmured. The queen was staring at her on guard. It was easy to tell that she was suspicious of her for one reason or another. She swallowed. The Queen couldn't possibly know she had any part in her son's disappearance.

She shifted from foot to foot, which seemed to please the Queen in some way. Oh yes, she suspected. She wondered if the Queen could smell fear.

She had seen the Queen many times before, and had spoken to her one on one a few times as well. And in all that time, she had never lost a certain charm about her. But she was piercing her with a look that she wouldn't have thought she could make.

Queen Bulma was a compassionate and seemingly always happy woman. She had heard rumors that if she ever got set off on a temper, the opposing side was gone. But as far as she knew, she hadn't done anything to set off a temper, nothing the Queen could prove anyway.

Then why was she staring at her like that? Like she was a cowering mouse who was trying to steal cheese, and had been caught by a cat. One of complete mistrust…

She shifted on her feet, nervous under the stare.

"Where's my son?" Bulma asked after a moment of staring. She swallowed again.

"The prince? I'm not sure…"

"You once said you thought he'd be back soon."

"Yes…," she agreed.

"So you must know where he is if you can make an estimate of his return." The girl blushed and chewed.

"I couldn't say exactly," she murmured.

"Well don't say _exactly_ then. Just tell me where he is," Bulma repeated.

She looked up to the sky, almost pleading to it for answers. And it was with shock and great gratitude that she met the first raindrop with an upturned face. The drop fell from the dark clouds above and landed squarely on her nose.

It slid down, dropping to the stone found below her as she brought her face back to standard position.

For show more than anything, she held out her hand with a tilted head.

"I believe it's rain," she said. The queen nodded. "Well, don't want to be caught in a storm," she said wisely, grabbing the skirts at the knees and hiking the hems off the ground.

Without waiting for the queen to make any action, she ran quite quickly back into the castle. Her master was gone, the prince was still invisible, and the ruler of the country was suspicious of her.

Things could not work more against her, she thought tiredly. But at least she wasn't caught in that turned awful down pour…

* * *

The two ran, feet slinking in the wet ground that was threatening to turn into mud. Pan had her bundle of clothing hugged up to her chest, but only one hand was able to support it as the other was trying without luck to hold her dress up enough to give her legs room to run. Her whole run was awkward, but the prince was in no position to help her.

It was becoming apparent that the royal had not spent much time in the mud, as he was having a particularly hard time making his way through it. His blue eyes were glaring down at the ground as if it were its own fault to be composed of something the reacted with water so messily.

A light flashed from behind them, and seconds later the entire sky was filled with a thundering boom that seemed to shake the very trees and water around it.

Pan let out a un-lady like yell, her whole body jumping, hands flying to her heart, her clothing falling to the mud. She had stopped dead in her tracks, making Trunks stop beside her. Without having to deal with walking through the horrendous mud, he took the time to bend down and grab the dropped clothing before looking at Pan.

Her eyes were slammed shut, teeth gnawing at her lip.

"…Pan?" he asked quizzically. She turned to him sharply; as if she had forgotten that he was even alive, yet alone walking next to her. His look deepened at her own glance she threw him. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I just really hate…" she trailed off, but her eyes had scanned the horizon, her hands gripping slightly tighter at the opposite arms they were folded against. It was apparent what she really hated, and while he sometimes liked to pretend he had the powers of Gods, in reality there was no way to stop the thunder that was causing her to pull at her arms, dashing off at a quick-paced walk towards the house – and safety.

He didn't stop to worry about the fact she had left him with all of her clothes, but simply continued carrying them and made to catch up with Pan.

Thunder had boomed a second time before she had gotten close enough to the house to reach out and grab the door handle. She had flung the door open and threw herself indoors. Trunks was soon to follow, slamming the door behind them both.

They stood in the middle of Pan's kitchen, Trunks' mind mainly contemplating where to drop the now very wet pile of clothing. Pan didn't move from where she stood; thick droplets of rain dripping of her hair and chin, where she made no move to wipe them away.

It was the first time he could say he saw her showing an emotion akin to fear. Of a storm? It just didn't fit in with the personality he had mentally constructed for her. It was almost alarming, this 'fear' of hers. She stood, fingers still clawing at her arms, teeth mutilating her lips, and he was almost positive her whole body was shaking.

The stubborn, annoying girl was gone, replaced with… well… her eyes were narrowed as if angry with herself, or perhaps the weather, and her eyes flashed. She wasn't frightened. Her body was.

He tilted his head. In Pan's place stood a stubborn, annoying girl who was shaking from something. He took a timid step towards her. She heard the step, and accordingly turned to look at him.

He coughed slightly, generally surprised at seeing her full portrait. Of course she wasn't wearing anything but a thin white dress, double layered to block any viewing of exposed, wet skin. Her hair was the messiest he had ever seen it; blown this way and that, half still tied up, most hanging drenched over her shoulders.

And she was shivering, not happy about it, and looked as if she were going to walk over to him and kick him, no reason attached. He almost wished she would – just to stop whatever was causing her to dig out her upper arms.

She simply shook her head, sighed and went to walk away, arms still crossed. She paused, as if thinking better, and turned back to him. She reached out her hands, took the pile of clothing from him, before turning around again to head upstairs.

Trunks dumbly followed, not sure where to go or what to do, now that his lovely day was taken away, not that nightfall hadn't been almost there anyway. She hadn't said a thing to him since coming inside, and he was growing fidgety against the silence.

He followed her into a room, that judging by the areas for pumped water and baths, was the cleaning and washing room. She unceremoniously dropped the bundle in her arms to the ground, and began to pick an item of clothing up, one at a time and straighten them out.

Each item was pulled over hooks, presumably for drying purposes. It was then that he noticed that he too, was wearing soaked through clothing. He glanced down and was somewhat disappointed to see the comfortable tunic from Pan was now too wet to be dried while being worn. His hair was letting water droplets roll down his neck and back, in a gesture that was so irritating he marveled how he hadn't noticed it before then.

He hastily reached his hands out, and ran fingers through the fine lavender hair, pulling at places that after years of bathing he had identified as the key spots to wringing out water.

He could do nothing about the state of his clothes, except later exchange them for dry ones if Pan ever deemed it considerable enough to offer them to him.

She had finished laying out her layers of clothes to dry, and turned to look at him. Her eyes took in his appearance, face slackening for a moment. She was staring, lips slightly parted, an odd noise escaping her mouth before she could stop it. She shook her head almost comically, and blinking her eyes to his face. He blinked himself, somewhat confused by her earlier expression, until he glanced down and realized that his shirt was so wet it was pulled across his chest, showing every single ridge that molded it.

He smirked.

She caught the gesture, scowling and made a move to reply to his non-verbal retort when thunder boomed from the window a bit behind them. She jumped predictably, and after staring at the window for a moment, pushed past Trunks towards her own room.

He followed.

She glared at him when her fingers were curling at the collar of her light dress, indicating obviously that she was prepared to rid herself of the clinging, drenched object. He, being the wonderful gentleman that he was, turned around at her glare, and obediently kept his eyes staring at the wood door that was now ahead of him.

It was almost like an odd game really. One played by children, as he remembered seeing some play such a game. One with their back turned away; hearing everything that was happening behind them, choosing when to look back at the others and hopefully catch them moving… but the stakes were higher this time.

It wasn't a little childhood's game where if he looked back against the rules, he was scolded for being a cheater. If he looked back in this game, and saw Pan with any lack of clothing that she would not be happy about, his very life was at stake.

He had come to terms with what Pan was capable of, and he didn't place emotional murder beyond so.

A sound of her clearing her throat indicated to him that she was finished undressing, but he turned around with caution nonetheless. He could see her disregarded clothing hung on a hook, the odd drop falling from the hem of the dress. It had really been pouring outside.

"I'll get you some clothes then," she murmured lightly, padding off past him.

He decided to just stay where he was, letting her return to him with the clothing. He turned his blue eyes to the window, where the rain was thundering down, and to him, was actually quite soothing.

It made a scattering noise on the roof above him, which set his nerves at ease for some reason. His own room wasn't on the top floor, so this was the first time he had truly heard rain on a roof. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, briefly wondering if it would stay put and not cave in under the water's pressure.

Pan sauntered back into the room, a pair of simple pants and shirt in hand. She handed the articles to Trunks without a word, and he took them in the same wordless fashion.

She turned from him and made her way to her bed. Trunks supposed this was her version of letting him have some privacy, but then again, he really didn't have to be in her room anyway.

There were many other rooms in the house… but all of the other rooms were empty. Completely empty. It was odd being invisible… to walk past a mirror, or a puddle of water, and see no reflection that was supposed to be there. Pan was so comforting because she could see what no one else in the world could. And he wanted to be beside that.

Even during the night, no, especially during the night, when his thoughts were prone to wander off on the most unusual paths. But he was quite certain that he was not welcome in her bedroom, as last time he tried to sleep in her bed, they had ended up sleeping outside on the ground.

He didn't want a replay. Especially considering the weather…

He took one last look at Pan; her blankets pulled up around herself, almost completely covering the pale yellow dress she had slipped into, her damp hair untied and falling down her back. Her dark eyes met his, and an eyebrow was raised.

Trunks knew when his welcome had been worn out, and obediently gave a small nod to the girl and with clothes under arm, went to the door, his fingers pausing at the handle.

"Pan, are you okay?" he asked, turning his head back to her. She scowled slightly at him, and folded her arms.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, an embarrassed tone sneaking into her voice.

"The thunder… it seems to…"

"It seems to what Trunks?" she asked, more annoyance present than embarrassment. He turned completely away from the door and stalked over to her bed.

"It seems to make you jump half a head every time you hear it. You were shaking like a leaf in there, and jumping around more than a frog. So I just wanted to know if you are okay."

She stared at him for a moment longer, internally weighing her options. The silence was so deafening and prolonged that he thought that she wasn't going to reply at all, and made a slight move to exit the room when her soft voice called him back.

"My kitten died…" she whispered. "When it was storming like this…" she had turned her head to look out the closed window; the beautiful afternoon transformed in minutes to the howling monster outside.

"It was a horrible storm… and she had just died."

"How old were you?" he asked quietly. She gave a small shrug,

"Small. I hated rain after that. Couldn't stand going outside. My parents couldn't do anything about it, and even Goten had tried to tease me to get outside, but I just stayed put. Have you ever lost something that was dear to you? It hurts. It's a hurt that won't go away, and even now, when I can't remember the kitten's name, or even what it looked like, it still hurts."

Trunks stood where he was, unsure of how to act. A part of him wanted to go over to the bed and comfort her, but another part was telling him to just stay where he was.

"My grandfather was the one that eventually got me to leave. He said wherever the kitten was… it was happy. And that likewise I should be happy. I didn't want to be happy; I wanted to cry and try to never forget my friend. But my grandfather told me to not think about the kitten, because she wasn't thinking about me."

Trunks raised his eyebrows at this, expecting an endearing story from a Son ancestor, but instead getting a remark that rivaled something his father might have said; had a precious pet been lost to him. But Pan was smiling slightly.

"He told me, that the kitten was off chasing balls of yarn and mice wherever she was. That she was having a good time, and not thinking about how sad that she was to be away from me. He said that when she died, it had stormed for a reason. So that every time it rained from then on, it meant that she was thinking about me. He said it was only fair to think about her when she thought about me… to be happy when she was happy, and thoughtful when she was.

"From then on, whenever it rained, I would sit up with my grandfather and we would talk about my kitten. I was never sad on sunny days. Soon, when it rained we didn't even talk about her… we would talk about other things. I grew very close to my grandfather, and I didn't _forget_ my kitten, I just… moved on. But every time it rained…

"One time… it was raining hard. Storming. It was horrible. At the time, I was happy… I remember. It was like, my kitten was trying to send a special 'hello', and I was excited to pass the thought on to my grandfather. But when I went to his room…

"He was sleeping," she said, very quietly. He was looking at her, and she didn't seem to notice. Didn't seem to notice that he was staring with a slack jaw at the tears that were slipping unchecked, silently down her face.

"I thought he was sleeping anyway… I went to wake him… but he was cold. Very cold." Trunks breathe hitched and he turned his eyes away. He knew how this story would proceed, and a part of him was itching to yell at her to stop. Every child hit an experience in their life when their innocence was stripped from them. He couldn't help but wonder if this was hers.

"It's storming out… the kind I've only seen twice before… not overly strong… but meaningful. I shiver, and I know. It's one of _those_ storms. It was storming hard when I crawled next to an un-breathing grandfather. It was storming hard the night my kitten died. And I forget my kitten now… and I'm starting to forget him as well. His face is blurry in mind… his voice faint. And it's storming just like that outside now… how can I not think that someone else dear to me has just been torn away from this world? How can I not think that someone else is dead? And how long will it be before I forget their face too?"

Her face was turned completely downcast, and he couldn't read her emotions even if he had tried to see them. He saw her logic… even though, surely, the occurrences were unconnected. He wanted to express this to her, but his lips remained shut, his feet unmoving.

And the storm outside did not budge either.

* * *

sighs So marks the end of my Easter weekend. Hope that wonderful bunny brought everyone some nice chocolate.

Angel Eevee


	16. Upon Regretting

**A/N: **See chapter one for disclaimer.I wanted to get this out before I went to a Latin competition, but it ended up being short an entire scene the night before I left. Sadly, it collected dust on my lap top until I got back and could finish it up. Sigh, and I tried to write faster too. Alas. And because I don't think I say it enough;

Thank you for all the reviews!

**Last Time: **Pan made a wish on a fallen flower petal, and Trunks got to watch her swim for a bit, though he made no move to join her. Bulma full out confronts the princess, but she evasively gets away from the queen. There is a huge thunderstorm, one which gets to Pan, who ends up telling Trunks her reason behind hating/fearing the storms and her worries that someone else close to her has died.

**"Upon Regretting"**

The wind had started to whine as it swept across the sky, and the shrill noise sounded more eerie than it should have in the thick silence of Pan's room. She hadn't made any move to talk to him more, her face was still turned away from Trunks, and he couldn't be sure if she was crying or not.

Trunks was staring at a very interesting dust clump at the corner of a shelf when he heard the slight shuffle from Pan. He turned his eyes to her, keeping his face turned away, and saw her swing her feet completely on the bed again, almost throwing herself underneath the warm covers that were there. He raised an eyebrow.

Trunks, as a rule, didn't like to see girls cry. He didn't like to see anyone cry really, but girls were worse. When they cried, cried for real, it was as if their entire world was destroyed and nothing in their life could ever possibly be livable with ever again. Pan hadn't cried like that before. She had shared with him something though, something that so obviously affected her, that it had moved her to tears at the memory.

But he didn't think Pan was one to cry and let it be shown. He wondered if she had even realized that she was crying. He felt ashamed, for not doing anything, for the desire was there so much to walk over and just hold her. Hold her, because her fingernails were still digging into her arms, and it was as if a dam was just waiting to burst inside her.

He wanted to hold her and let her sob. To get her stress out so that she could sleep. But he hadn't. He stood where he was, and even now, he didn't think that he could walk over. He wanted to, yes, but he couldn't make it to her.

She had turned her back to him, the covers pulled past her shoulders, so that only the top of her head was visible.

"I'm very tired… goodnight," came the wavering voice from the bed. Trunks wanted to stand where he was and contemplate the situation he was in. He wanted to stand and think about the story Pan had shared. He wanted to think of a way to comfort the distraught girl. He wanted fresh pie.

But no one got what they wanted all of the time, no matter what his father thought. So with a sigh that he made sure was audible, he turned and walked to the door, actually going through it this time, dry clothes still in his hands.

He closed the door most of the way and listened carefully, but no further noise from Pan could be heard. He was somewhat disappointed.

Shifting the clothes in his hands, he turned down the hallway and peeked into the first room he saw. It was almost across from Pan's own room, and after looking in, he could see a wide bed that looked not only warm, but also inviting. He liked the idea of being nearby Pan… just in case, and this room would certainly suit him fine, so he walked into it, leaving the door open.

He cast a quick look to the door, purely out of habit, as the only person that could see him anyway was Pan, and she was not going to try and watch him strip in her current condition, surely. So without further thought, he dropped his pants and tugged the once comfortable, now soaked tunic over his head. He had half a mind to hop into the large bed without putting on the new clothes, but declined the notion.

The bed was a stranger's… who knew what could have gone on in it before now. The pants that Pan had gave him he found he liked better than his own. They were much looser and fell down further than his own. He wondered if the owner was simply larger than he was, or if it was because style would not be as important, the peasants dressed for comfort instead of appeal. It was an interesting thought, and as he slipped on the dry shirt as well, he backed up his earlier theory.

He had rarely been in such comfortable clothing. He had always had to dress formally and regally for the court. Here it didn't matter. Naturally it didn't matter because he was invisible, but it also didn't matter because… that's just how it was…

Not for the first time, it struck Trunks just how laid back and different this life was from his own. He was finding less and less things that were worse here than at the castle. He sighed, pulling the hem of the soft wool down, and stretching his arms above his head.

Trunks yanked the covers back on the bed dramatically and hopped onto the bed. The covers felt thick and warm, and he snuggled further down into them, enjoying the feel of the soft warmth on his bare feet.

He gripped a pillow tightly, satisfied that it was not hard as rock as he might have once feared it to be. His eyes were drifting closed, the sun setting behind the clouds so no light was seen at all, and he almost smiled.

These peasants… they weren't quite so barbaric.

* * *

His dark eyes scanned the words on the page, frowning at the piece in general. Sometimes he would contemplate why he even bothered to read some of the books that he did, though the contemplation was fruitless because he always came to the same conclusion.

He was the King, so he really didn't _have_ to read anything he didn't feel like. Well, these philosophical novels were not must reads in the first place. But his advisors liked to read the oddest pieces of literature, written by some far off peasant looking to make a few coins, and would quote randomly from them.

Vegeta didn't like having his inferiors quote something he didn't recognize. He liked having them quote something, and then be able to tear the reference to pieces with something from the exact same source.

And he was good at it. Usually by the third time reading a book he could remember any key parts word-for-word. So, because it gave him such an advantage on the council and against the underlings, he liked to be prepared. And that meant reading every 'classic' that seemed to be popping up around the country.

He also liked to make his son read some of the obscure books, the ones that he found particularly boring. He would rant about how insightful and honourable the books were, and watch in morbid pleasure as his son not only tried to read the book but appear to be enjoying it at the same time.

It was worth reading the lesser quality of books just to see Trunks try to read them.

Vegeta smirked to himself, calloused fingers resting at the corner of the page, eyes finishing the paragraph before turning. He shifted the pillow behind him, taking a glance at the empty spot at his side.

He was almost alarmed before he remembered that one, Bulma was just washing up, and two, it didn't matter because they weren't fighting anymore. Not that what they had been doing was really fighting. A disagreement perhaps? He wasn't sure. It was about the boy though, and she had a strong affinity about him. Sometimes he thought it was almost painful how much his wife loved his son. That the whole thing would only hurt her in the end, when Trunks turned away from his parents, just as he himself had done.

But he had left his parents much younger than Trunks. By the time he was twelve he rarely spoke to either of his parents, and was making plans how he would reign, or simply how to get away from home.

Though as far as he knew, Trunks had never shared the same kind of hateful feelings. He had hated his own parents. Trunks talked to both Bulma and him. Granted, he talked to Bulma more, but that was to be expected - the way she practically smothered him.

Speaking of the temptress, he thought, glancing up from his book, which was now carrying on about something he wasn't even following any longer, to see his wife. That was the price to pay when one let their mind wander. He could remember reading nothing on that page, or the page back. He sighed, marked the page he was holding, before looking back at her.

Bulma was wearing her sleeping garment that he liked so much again. It was her most becoming outfit really. There were some fancy dresses she owned, ones so complicated and extravagant he was fairly sure that she had someone help her dress into them, that were becoming as well. Though these dresses emphasized her body to a point of over doing it, and while these outfits were beautiful, and underlined her own beauty; it underlined it for the world to see.

It was shown at fancy balls or banquets when each Lord in the land took the opportunity to gawk at their Queen. However, the almost comically simple dress she wore now did not only make her beautiful, it was an outfit only he saw her in, and it was the one that easily suited her best. Her personality was woven into that dress; making it perfect. And so he liked it.

Or maybe he just liked taking it off. There were so many ties and knots… it could be entertaining some times. He liked the way Bulma would giggle when he tried in vain to untie her clothing, being at a loss with all of the layers.

Bulma had walked over, aqua hair pulled back into a simple series of braids, her slim fingers twirling the end of the braids absent mindedly. He glanced up at her, acknowledging her presence, and tiredly closed his book. She took this as a sign that she wasn't disturbing him and crawled into the bed next to him, pulling a pillow onto her lap. The two sat under the covers, leaning against the headboard, while he waited for her to talk, as he knew she would, and she fidgeted with a loose thread on the pillow.

"I was talking to her, like you said…" she started, still looking at the pillow, referring to Trunks' fiancée. "She snuck away though… she ran back inside before she could tell me anything. She does know where he is though," she said, almost as an after thought.

"You know this for sure?"

"Only on mother's instinct," she replied. He scoffed at her remark.

"I could always make her tell us," he suggested half-heartedly.

"Oh, don't," Bulma said, shoving her shoulder lightly into his. "It's not that important… I would know, I think, if something was wrong. I would know if she was hiding the truth because he was hurt or captured. It's almost as if… almost as if Trunks just had to go do something, and he got her to cover for him. I do not doubt that he will be back. It just irks me that she knows and I don't."

"I'm sure it does." Bulma rolled her eyes at her husband, but kept them on him, searching his face for something.

"Have you ever regretted anything?" she asked suddenly. He raised his eyebrows and looked at her.

"No. King's don't regret things," he replied automatically. Bulma made a noncommittal noise, as if she knew better and was silently disagreeing with him. He could be so stubborn at times, yet she had no doubt that in his mind, he thought he had absolutely no regrets in life, and if he did, he was King and could therefore make them not exist. Vegeta was pig-headed that way. She shook her head, looking at him closely.

His features were very chiseled and sharp, an exaggerated forehead, sharp chin, and a nose that she was often tempted to lean over and squeeze as she found it so cute. But there was something else beside a physical appeal. It was the very essence of her husband; his smell, his being, his soul. A person's self radiated of them, and she couldn't imagine waking up one day and not being beside that smell of musk and pepper she had come to associate him with. She shook her head slightly.

"I love you," she said softly, and though she had said it many, many times in their life together, this time made him start and look at her intently. She wasn't waiting for a reply, and she hadn't said it out of passion or feeling. It was as if she had just realized the fact, and felt that it needed to be stated as such. Her tone had been soft, yet serious. It was overwhelming, that someone could love him so purely for so long… Vegeta breathed.

"Thank you," was all he managed to say. Bulma smiled.

It was all that was needed.

* * *

Goten sighed and swirled the liquor in his cup, largely dispassionate about the drink he had ordered. He never was much of a drinker, and he didn't really feel like drinking at the moment. He wasn't even sure why he had come into the bar at that.

He wished he knew about Pan. He wished he could figure out who this mysterious boy she was going on about was. Not that she had said anything aloud, but he _knew_ that someone new had entered her life; someone who was making big changes.

Whether these changes were for the good or bad, he wasn't sure yet. But if they were for the good… Goten would be glad to have his little niece married off. He would be glad if she could escape her contract and marry before Keipher had anything to say about it. And hopefully, he would be dead by the time Pan's own daughters were old enough to marry, and finish the contract started by Videl.

It was amusing, in a way, to think of Pan married. He knew that she was sweet and cute when she wanted to be, but to the general male population she always seemed to be bossy and self-righteous. Sure she could be sweet at times to them, but that was really just her manipulative character… Pan had a way with that.

He wondered offhandedly how the prince had refused her request for ownership of her farm. What kind of boy was he; to be able to withstand the will of Pan? The kingdom had a bright yet disastrous future ahead of it.

Ambition and power could take it anywhere. Not that Goten really cared on the whole. He took a sip if his drink before forcing thoughts of monarchy politics out of his mind.

He shook his head slightly, worrying about the storm that was thrashing outside, wondering how on earth Pan was doing. If he recalled, she never had liked thunder storms…

A resounding boom wasn't the only thing that brought Goten fully out of his inner monologue thoughts, but also the arrival of a burly man beside him. The man looked expectantly at the bartender who went to fetch a bottle of alcohol, after no words or exchange. Goten supposed he must be a regular customer to have his drink memorized.

He turned half of his attention to the man beside him, still absently sipping his drink. The bartender returned in a moment, carrying a bottle half-way full.

"This was it," the bartender said somewhat un-enthusiastically. "She ordered it from here, but like I said, it wasn't poisoned when I poured it into her glass, the priest did that."

The man now holding the newly acquired bottle was scowling.

"I believe me and my colleagues will be the one to determine that." He walked away in a huff, leaving Goten following his trail out with his eyes.

"The nerve," the bartender muttered. "As if any of my own stock would be poisoned. They won't find it in the bottle, mark my words." Goten looked towards the bartender who caught his eye. "I mean it; none of my stock has been tampered with."

Goten raised an eyebrow, casting a quick glance to his own glass.

"Why would anyone think that in the first place?" he asked. The bartender raised his own eyebrows and paused in whipping a glass.

"You mean you haven't heard?" he asked carefully. Goten shook his head. "Where have you been? There were crowds in here just a bit ago. Now, don't get scared away, I swear it's not from my liquor. But someone was poisoned…" Goten set his glass down and folded his hands.

"Poisoned? Are they alright?"

"I should say not. They're dead. A woman, red hair, very… artsy looking."

"Artsy?"

"Oh you know, bandana, bright colours…" he trailed off, making wild gestures with his hands in attempt to describe her outfit. Goten started.

"You mean, like a fortuneteller?"

"Yeah… you don't know her do you?"

"I think I might," he said quietly, biting his lip.

"Well, no one else does. You should go to where she is tomorrow to claim it. Everyone's spooked, and I think it'd be less if someone knew who she was."

Goten nodded, making plans to go in the morning, after the storm, wishing full heartedly that it wasn't the wild fortuneteller that used to like to stop by the farm and chat with Pan. He didn't want to have to tell her that a friend had died… no, killed?

"So, if it wasn't this that poisoned her," Goten pointed to his glass, "then what did?" The bartender frowned and leaned over towards him.

"I don't want to start a rumor, but I would bet my soul it was this one guy. He was looking at her funny and made some sort of gesture to her. Next thing she's crumpled down, cold as anything."

"What did he look like?"

"Well-" the bartender was cut off by another officer entering the bar who motioned that he needed to talk. The bartender cast a glance to Goten. "Come back tomorrow and I'll tell you. This looks like it may take a while."

Goten nodded, drowning down the rest of his drink and placing the appropriate amount of coins on the counter, before heading upstairs to the room he was staying in. In the morning, he would go see the body. In the morning, he would know if he had to break the news of a close friend's death to his little niece. In the morning he would know.

* * *

Trunks stirred in his sleep. The edges of sleep were beckoning him to fall back to them; their arms were tugging at him to return to them and dream more lovely dreams about cupcakes, tadpoles, and the dancing queen of badgers. But Queen Badger would have to wait the prince deemed, pulling his mind groggily from a dream, though his body willed it not to.

His eyes blinked open for a minute before shuttering close again. Most of his mind wanted to crawl back into his bizarre dream and see if he could get his dream-amphibians off his dream-cupcake, the other (smaller part) was trying to open his resisting eyes to see what had woken him in the first place. That small logical part of his mind wanted to know what had drawn him out of his sleep – it could not be dawn.

This smaller part won out, largely because of the fleeting thought that some sort of attack had been what had awaken him, and that Pan was in some sort of danger. Blue eyes squinted against the world, and it didn't take long for him to notice what was wrong. A patch of light was shooting through the door and across his face. A glance to the window not only told him it was night, but it also told him that the storm was still working strong.

He sat up stiffly, following the beam of light to its source to see the reason why he had been so unjustly taken from his dream. With a small groan he swung his feet over the side of the bed and placed bare feet onto the floor, waiting for the shiver of immense cold to overtake his body. It didn't come.

Somewhat surprised, he cast his blue eyes downward and eyed the thickly woven, yet well worn, rug that was pulled across the floor. His feet were met with the warm frayed wool, not the cold stone floor he was half expecting. He shook his head. He was not at home. He couldn't expect things to be the same; this was a small country house, coloured marble or the like wouldn't be present here.

He stood up, eyeing the floor one more time. No polished marble like his own room… but somehow this worse-for-wear rug seemed much more sophisticated and useful than his own expensive flooring. It seemed almost comical that in his entire life he had never thought to simply ask for a rug to put by his bed so he wouldn't have to walk on frigid floors.

Trunks tore his eyes away, hating the way that this near pauper's lifestyle was constantly showing him up. He walked carefully along the rug, remembering his first intention for getting out of bed. The simple clothes felt nice against his skin, and the floor was nice against his feet. He would have relished in the feeling more if it had truly been time to get up and not just a late night wake up. His eyes followed the light, and as he had expected, it was emitting from Pan's room.

He scowled lightly, anticipating a good reason why she had a candle lit this late at night; one that would surely wake him up. He wondered if she had lit it for that very purpose; and right now her own face was under layers of covers, blocking off the light, and that she positioned the candle just so its light would disturb his own sleep but not hers.

The prince pushed this thought away as the whole idea seemed silly, and surely no one hated him that much to try and formulate such a stupid ploy. He padded across the hallway to Pan's room and raised his hand to knock lightly.

The knock was very quiet and fell about deaf ears. He leaned over and peeked his eye through the door. Not seeing anything to turn him away, he pushed the door open quietly and took the first step inside.

Her eyes were closed, body stiff and her breathe rushed uneasily through her nose in a pattern that told him quite obviously that she was not asleep. He took another step into her room.

Her eyes flashed open, catching him as a guard would a criminal. He paused in his steps and looked at her, rubbing one of his arms with a hand. She stared.

"What?" she asked, her voice sounding rather hoarse.

"Your light…" he murmured. She raised her eyes towards the candle that sat by her bedside and sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I forgot."

"You forgot you had a candle burning? Isn't that rather dan-"

"I know it's dangerous. I wasn't asleep anyway. I meant I forgot you were here and that the light would bother you," she said in an annoyed voice.

"Well don't you ever sleep?" he asked, rubbing his eye to get some sleep out. She scowled.

"Of course I do."

"Then why are you still awake? Look outside – it's night time." He made a gesture towards the window, to which she shuddered ever so slightly and shook her head.

"The rain won't kill you," he said, looking at the closed shutters and hearing the violent storm behind them. He realized what he said too late after he had said it. Pan's odd fear of storms and death clashed with his statement, and he found himself wincing as he turned his gaze back to her, wondering if his remark had been taken as a cruel jab or a slip of the tongue as it had truly been.

Pan's face was unreadable in any case, but her hands were not. They were clenched lightly at her chin, and looking at them, he noticed something that made him blink and take a hesitant step forward.

"Pan… you're shaking," he whispered. She looked at him but did not reply. He finished the steps between them and placed a hand over her fists. "… you're not shaking. You're freezing!" he exclaimed, bringing his hand back, shocked at the coldness of her skin. She shook her head in disagreement.

"I'm just a little chilly. It's cold out."

"Not that cold," he replied wildly. She opened her mouth to make a retort but he stopped her by kneeling down in front of her, blue eyes piercing into her own. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly. The words seemed foreign to him, and in fact, the whole situation was, making his reactions to the situations based completely on impulse.

Pan shook her head, her breathe sucking in uneasily.

"It's just rain. It doesn't mean anything," he said stupidly. She closed her eyes.

"Haven't you ever been afraid for someone?" she asked hesitantly. He closed his eyes and searched his mind. Had he? He wasn't sure. He didn't know if there was a time when he had actually feared for the well being of someone else. He didn't answer her.

"Staying awake won't help," he whispered. She nodded.

"I know. I just…"

"I can't sleep with that light."

"I know," she sighed, and the heaviness of her voice suggested that she did indeed know, and was once more sorry about having the light burning. "I just didn't want to be here… alone."

Trunks stared at her. She was worried enough about her family that she couldn't sleep, and merely lay in bed shivering. She didn't want the light off because then she would be alone. And being alone makes worrisome things all the more real.

The prince considered her for a moment before standing up.

"Well, I can't sleep with that on," he said, leaning over and blowing the candle out. A small noise of objection came from Pan. "But I won't leave you alone either," he added. And before he could really think about what he was doing, or why he was doing it, the impulsive part of his brain already had him swinging one foot behind Pan and making the motion to get his other leg to join it.

In a quick movement he had relocated behind Pan and had slipped underneath the covers. He turned on his side, facing Pan's back.

"I wanted this bed anyway," he said in a joking way. She didn't reply. "Won't you even _try_ to sleep?"

"I just want my parents. They have to be okay. I don't want to be here alone," she rambled almost mindlessly.

"You're not alone," he replied. He brought his arms up and used them to pull her towards him. Her curved back was resting against his chest, one of his hands held across her stomach. She brought her own hands to his in an attempt to push him away, but as her fingers brushed over his wrist, they seemed to think better of it and took a rest on top of his hand instead.

"Why?" she asked dumbly, held against him, his hands on her stomach, covered by her own. She felt a shrug behind him.

"I wanted to sleep," he replied. The reply seemed hollow to both of them. A silence stretched out, with both breathing calmly, her shivering dying slowly and his eyes drifting close.

She went to turn to him in the dark, the faint natural light allowing her to make out the basic design of his face beside her.

"Thank you," she whispered to it. It did not reply. She studied it, not that it was the first time she had seen him sleeping, but certainly the first time she had felt the desire to look at him. His eyes were moving slowly behind his lids, and she wondered what he was dreaming of. A brief murmur from him about a badger and an army of carnivorous tadpoles changed her mind.

His lips were parted ever so slightly, wisps of lavender hair falling over his eyebrows and threatening to cover his nose. She turned, bringing a hand to brush away the hair. She bit her lip, staring at the face before her. It was near a miracle how calm and civilized he looked when sleeping. The arm around her waist tightened.

She shook her head and for a brief moment felt like crying. Everything was going wrong. The storm, Keiper, the prince and his curse. She was not supposed to do this.

This was what had been foretold to her that morning, by her friend in a whispered fortune, not that she believed in that stuff but…

She shook her head again. Leaning forward she whispered to his cheek softly;

"Thank you… again," and gently touched her lips to his cheek. He didn't stir. She leaned back, curling with his arm that was across her. The fortune was wrong. She would make it be wrong… because she didn't want to be hurt when this was all over. She didn't want to be on the losing end.

She didn't want to fall in love with the prince.

_"You need to keep your arm steadier," he said in exasperation. The small boy looked up with wide blue eyes. Frowning, he turned back towards the tree line, lifting his arms. _

_The bow felt large and awkward in the prince's young hands. He carefully extended his left arm, gripping the center of his bow tightly, as his father had instructed. He squinted eyelids over his eyes, trying to perfectly line up the tip of his arrow to the spot where his father had told him to shoot. _

_It wasn't every day his father would come to watch him practice. Usually Trunks was just stuck with his tutor who drawled on how to hold weaponry and the basics on how to use it. _

_His small hand wobbled as he pulled the string back. He wanted to close his eyes tight, release the tension and cautiously reopen them to see if he made his target; as he had done many times before. Except now his father, the king, was here. And he didn't want to close his eyes to him. He didn't want to look childish. _

_He would rather miss with his eyes open, than miss while looking away and praying for dumb luck. With a deep breath, the boy made one final check on the angle to his target, and let the arrow go with a snap. _

_It wasn't certain to tell who was surprised more, the prince or the king, when the arrow went horribly off target. Trunks frowned._

_"It's never been that off…" he murmured to himself, forgetting his father had been watching, in curiosity to the terrible aim of his shot. The king looked down to his son, but didn't make any comment to the shot. His son looked up at him after a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Vegeta made a gesture with his head, to signal that the two of them should walk inside. _

_"I'll come back in a few weeks," Vegeta said after a few minutes of silence, as the boy almost skipped at his side to keep up with his father's larger strides. _

_"Okay," Trunks assented. "I'm not too good yet," he confided. "Luthor always makes the target though… but he's a few months older than me anyway." _

_Vegeta glanced down again, remembering 'Luthor' as the son of a noble; a boy Trunks occasionally learned with. _

_"Perhaps he works harder at it," Vegeta suggested with slight tact. Trunks shook his head._

_"His Dad thought him how to shoot." _

_"I'm very busy," he replied with a sigh. "I don't have time to teach a seven year old how to miss a tree." _

_Trunks looked up and shook his head, smiling. _

_"I know you can't. A father doesn't teach that anyway," he said. Vegeta frowned._

_"You just said that Luthor was taught by his father."_

_"No. I said he was taught by his Dad." Vegeta scowled._

_"What's the difference?" Trunks looked as if he was going to laugh. He favoured the king with an amused look. As if the answer was common knowledge, and he was quizzing him on extremely easy material. _

_"A Dad likes his children," Trunks said with the calmness of pure fact. Vegeta started. He stopped for a moment to look at his son, but Trunks was already walking ahead, unaware of what he had implied to his father. _

Vegeta blinked. _A Dad likes his children._ He turned his head slightly.

"Bulma? You remember, you asked me if I regretted anything?" he asked, quietly to the silent room that was now darkened with the candles out. He was doubtful if Bulma heard him, as a soft snore was the only reply he got. He continued anyway.

"I lied."

* * *

I wanted to have some sort of Trunks/Vegeta moment, where Vegeta actually makes a notion towards liking his son, since up until now all he does is complain when it comes to Trunks. He ended up saying that he regrets the almost-cold relationship he has with Trunks, which works as a moment, I think.

Angel Eevee


	17. Apple Picking

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. Waah, I just got to spellcheck this today after a week of fieldtrips. I got to see the musical Mamma Mia worships Latin class. That was my squee. Once again, thank you so much for all of the reviews; I'll have to write a more personal at the end of this whole story. You guys are great.

**Last Time:** Trunks marvelled, once again, at the disguised comfort of Pan's life. Vegeta and Bulma had a moment, where Bulma decided to give up her pursue momentarily to find where Trunks had gone off. Goten learns of the fortune teller's death and makes plans to see the body the following day. Vegeta remembers little-Trunks. And after being woken up, Trunks goes into Pan's room and hops into her bed, albeit with slight more tact.

"Apple Picking"

Trunks usually found himself to be a deep sleeper, however, given the right circumstances, he could be awoken by the oddest of things. Minimal candle light from the night before ranked up to be one of them. And a knee in the stomach was certainly another.

He slowly willed himself to wake up, making no direct move to snap awake, instead allowed his body to adjust accordingly to being awake. His eyes, still slightly unfocused, looked down to see just what was protruding into his stomach and causing him such odd discomfort.

He was mildly surprised to see a knee there.

He was even more surprised to follow the leg up and discover that the knee belonged to Pan.

The night's events came back to him, though at the moment, the memory of himself walking through the hallways and climbing into bed with her were slightly hazy. He remembered that she hadn't wanted to be alone. He remembered that he hadn't wanted any light. And that he had taken the matter into his own hands and had simple hopped into bed beside her. And for all of the fuss she had made the night before about him in her bed, she seemed to accept him in there quite easily.

Perhaps she was merely exhausted…

Trunks debated whether he should leave the bed in case she woke up and didn't recall the last night, and flew into a fit at him beside her. But if she did remember and she woke up alone, it would be as if he had broken his word, as he did say he wouldn't leave her alone.

Debating, the answer came to him before he had even reached a decision mentally.

His arm was underneath her body.

If he tried to move to get up, there was no way that he wouldn't wake her. So he would just have to wait. He'd have to wait until she began to waken… best pretend to be asleep himself when the time came, because heaven forbid she think that he was intently watching her… which he wasn't…

He did cast a look down at her, his blue eyes shaded by half-closed eyelids. Pan was turned towards him, one knee brought up to her chest and brushing his stomach, the other only slightly bent over her leg. Her hands were folded above her raised knee, and from his perspective, the position didn't look remotely comfortable.

However, he was a guy, and he had learned the hard way that there was just some things that a girl could do that a guy could not. Sleeping in such bizarre postures was one.

Breathing with corsets was another.

Not that he had ever _tried_ to breathe in a corset.

Not that he had ever tried a corset on in the _first_ place.

Pan mumbled something rather incoherent, and unconsciously brought a hand up to pull away the hair that had fallen across her face and was tickling the tip of her nose. She pushed the hair away, in her sleep, and made a few more yawning motions before dropping her hand and falling further into sleep.

He liked that she did not snore.

He had, once as a child, read about some of the horrid habits the lower class folk take part in, and snoring, for some unexplainable reason, had been one of them. Since that point on, he had avoided the peasant population on a whole, but was somewhat intrigued to get to know one, to see how many of the perceptions were true. Since meeting Pan, he decided that the book needed a little re-writing.

Her face was turned upwards, eyebrows raised ever so slightly in dream, lips parted… Trunks made a face and closed his eyes. He refused to give in to his lips' will. What was he to do? A dashingly handsome young prince, with a pretty girl curled up beside him, lips parted and turned upwards… the whole set up was screaming 'kiss! kiss!'.

He had been in places like this before. He was a young prince, he would be lying if he said he hadn't taken other girls to his bed before, however… Pan was not a castle girl to pass around. He glanced down at her, the way she curled up in sleep, against his body. His hands were resting at the small of her back, and he stretched his hand, silently marvelling how well her figure fit against his own.

He wondered if all the other girls had as well and he simply didn't care to notice, or if Pan was special in that way. He looked at her face again, and debated. She was sleeping… she would never know. And she did look like she would like to be kissed.

But then there was the whole morning breath issue…

Pan shifted slightly, a sigh passing through her throat, and her lips fell pressed together. Trunks let himself relax fully into the bed and closed his eyes.

Not today. Not yet.

* * *

He began to cautiously count out the coins he would need, keeping steady eyes on the man that was packing the food supplies he had requested. He didn't trust these peasant folk, and he wouldn't have them cheating with his provisions in any way. 

His fingers shook with slight anticipation. As soon as his pack was ready he would be able to set off. He'd start for the hill that would lead him to the path which, eventually, would lead him right to _her_ little farm, where the little prince must be hiding. He would set everything straight.

It wouldn't be that difficult after all. Trunks would recognize him right away, and he would claim his father had sent him to return home. But who knew what crazy spell had been placed on him… it would be stupid to not think she had placed something on him…

His little servant; the princess-to-be. She was too clever and too beautiful for her own good. And far too trusting, really. Hadn't all of that gotten her under his control in the first place? He smiled, despite the rustic and primitive surroundings which sent cringes up his spine. How anyone could live in this lifestyle was quite beyond him.

But no matter.

His coins clinked on the counter, where the shop keeper greedily snatched them up. He took his food and supplies and carefully arranged them in a pack to be slung across his shoulders. He glanced outside, slightly dismayed at the amount of rain still left on the ground. Walking up the grass hill would be murder…

He debated, and thought that maybe, he would wait until midday to give the sun a chance to dry off all of the grass. Surely in the long run it would save him more time than if he left at that moment.

And it didn't matter all that much. He was coming to see Pan. Whether it be now or in a few hours. And he would take delight in putting an end to Pan. The silly girl that decided to get into affairs that were far beyond her capability to comprehend.

He smiled an ugly smile.

Soon.

* * *

The prince had fallen back to sleep after his morning wake up, and it was to a sleeping, lightly snoring face that Pan opened her eyes. She blinked twice, holding back the strong urge to yelp and hop out of bed because _surely_ there was a reason there was a person in her bed. 

Pan leaned back a bit, pulling stray hairs behind her ears. The prince was in her bed. Her first reflex was to reach for the candle stick by her bed and turn violent on the peepish prince. However, her hands stayed where they were, because somehow she thought that perhaps he had permission to be there.

But why would she let _him_ near her bed? She closed her eyes briefly, willing any memories of the past night return to her.

Ah, yes. He couldn't sleep because of the light… and she didn't want to be alone. It had been rather beneficial to the both of them. Win win, as it were. And it was with the knowledge that she had let him sleep by her, that Pan pushed away any thoughts to be violent towards Trunks.

She breathed in, smelling the world through her window shutters. While she disliked huge storms, she could find some good things about them. Her mother had always drilled into her the proverb to see good things in bad situations.

Yes there had been a storm, and yes it had frightened you beyond belief. But now you can lay in bed, slowly stretching those muscles, and just smelling that fresh earth smell. The land has been cleaned, and outside there were huge fields of grass, swamped with dew and rain.

When she had been little she had loved to run through the grass bare-foot just after a rain. It was fun and left the feet freezing, so all your father could do was bundle you up inside in front of a fire and your mother could make something warm to eat.

And speaking of eating…

Pan turned sharply and suppressed a giggle at the sound of Trunks' stomach. It was protesting rudely against the prince's… healthy… diet of pies. Her eyes were drawn back to his face, as if from some outside force. She reached up her hand, and ran a finger very lightly across his cheek.

Pan frowned. His face was so different, she observed, after living with her family whose faces were soft featured and curved. His sharp cheek bones and chin were features she hadn't really seen on people before.

Her finger slid down to his chin to feel the shape. Her eyebrows knitted in contemplation, feeling the curve of his lip, her finger skimming between them.

So it was to a delicate finger brushing his lips that Trunks opened his eyes. He pulled his face back abruptly, running each lip through his teeth.

"Gah, that feels weird," he murmured, rubbing his lips. "Tickles," he added. He was absently rubbing his own fingers over them when he suddenly stopped and turned his eyes to Pan, who lay frozen; hand still positioned where his face had once been.

Trunks blinked.

"Were you touching my face?"

"No!" she said, bringing her hand down. Trunks raised his eyebrows. "Well, yes. But not in _that_ kind of way."

"Pan… it's a face. How many different ways can you touch it?"

"I don't know, but whatever way you are thinking of, it's dead wrong. I was just seeing the construction of your face, that's all."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to see if your skull would fit in my human sacrificial bone pit. Congratulations, it's going to match the arm of the Barbarian Ant-Eater's perfectly."

Trunks gave her a look that indicated her humour was unappreciated.

"You said they were human bones, so you couldn't have an ant-eater there. If you're going to lie, at least do it convincingly."

"What? I didn't lie. He was a human that ate ants."

Trunks stared. Pan laughed and sat up. She ran fingers through her untidy hair, in such a way that seemed so automatic, that Trunks would guess it was out of habit.

"You sacrifice humans?" he asked after a moment, not prepared to take her seriously, though a small part of his mind wasn't quite sure…

"Only on full moons," she replied smoothly. "And only people who bug me." With that said, she swung her feet gracefully to the floor and stood up, her dress trailing, from her knees where it had bunched up in sleep, to its proper length at her ankles. She pulled it needlessly straight and cast a glance at Trunks.

Whatever the glance was for, he wouldn't know, for she turned it away just as quickly as she had settled him with it. She hopped back on the bed and leaned over Trunks' horizontal body. Leaning forward she pulled at the shutter's holder and pushed open the window.

Annoying sunlight filtered in onto Trunks' face and he shut his eyes against it.

"Am I doomed to be darkly-challenged in this place? Heaven forbid you dim the lights," he said sharply towards the window.

Pan shook her head.

She leaned back off the bed, and stood with her hands on her hips, standing on her tip toes in order to stretch out her legs. Lifting her elbows over her head she sighed. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes before she walked across the room to her cabinet. She pulled out her under clothes, and was about to order Trunks not only out of bed, but also out of the room when she paused.

She raised her eyebrows in thought for a moment, before turning her head slightly and impishly smiling. She dropped her night dress to the floor, the garment pooling around her ankles. While pulling the strings across her chest to fasten her new clothes, she cast a discreet look back at Trunks.

His face was turned fully away, the faintest of blushes dashed across his cheek bones. Her smile broadened. She tied off the garment with ease coming from years of practice, and straightened the cloth. She pulled on her first dress before walking out of the room, a quick glance back revealing Trunks was still turned away.

She didn't bother to close the door, but instead trekked downstairs to where she knew a fresh basin of water would be left for her by the women. Above the basin was a decent sized mirror that caught her eye. She stared at her reflection.

What would her father think? she wondered idly as she wound her hair behind her neck. Here she was, sleeping next to a boy, and not just any boy, but the prince that was stealing his life away. She could just see her father now, torn between shock and rage. The imagined expression was one she had seen before, and was rather amusing, though she only saw it in un-amusing situations. His eyebrows would cross down and his jaw would open and close like a vacant fish.

However… her father wasn't here. And she hadn't done anything wrong… well, she didn't. Nothing happened, so surely there was no rules about sharing a bed as long as nothing happens of the sexual nature. Surely.

Pan frowned and picked up the rough soap near by, before plunging her hands into the basin and splashing the water onto her face. She scrubbed her face clean as well as her arms and set to drying them off with the near by towel.

It was weird to think that there was an invisible person in her bed right now. More weird that it was the prince, a man she could comfortably say she despised. She still remembered vividly, a few days ago, when she had gone to the palace. She had acted most civilly towards him; something that she didn't _have_ to do, and yet he had been completely priggish about the whole thing.

What was it to him if she kept her farm? They hadn't done anything wrong in the first place. Just because his father thought that he could make it more profitable, it didn't matter, because it was _their_ farm. He didn't have a right. Not in the moral sense.

And yes, now he agreed to give her the farm. But, he only did it because she refused to lift his curse.

Pan put the towel down and leaned her elbows on the rough table. She chewed her lip softly. She wondered, if she had proposed the same question now, if the answer would have been different. Curses aside, if she had come to the prince now and asked him for her farm, she wondered if he would have considered it. Because the prince… he seemed different some how.

Pan wasn't sure if it was just because she had gotten to know him better. Sometimes first impressions could be completely misleading, and her first of the prince wasn't a terribly flattering one. But now… he seemed different. They had danced together… laughed together… He had saved her from Keipher the day before, and the night before…

She wouldn't have imagined it. She had not spoke to anyone about her connection of storms to death. She had never mentioned it even to her family. Oh, they suspected, surely. But they wouldn't know the deepest reasons. Yet she had told Trunks. Had told him without mountains of hesitation. And he hadn't laughed. He had been almost… compassionate… understanding.

He had not left her alone last night. He had been by her side all night, and she truly hated to admit it but…

She couldn't remember a time when she had felt more safe. Nestled up to him, warm and comfortable. His own even breathing acting as an anchor for her. It was frightening in a sense. It was frightening in almost every sense. Because Pan wasn't just a stupid girl with no clue as to what was happening. She wasn't oblivious to what was going on, and she wasn't sure if the prince was either.

But he didn't seem to be doing anything to stop it. He seemed to notice the same feelings that she did, but he wasn't avoiding them. He was practically encouraging them.

And it wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that he just let her…

Just let her fall in love with him. Because then in a few days he would be gone. And she would be alone. And she would not set herself up for that. She wasn't going to play his game. She didn't doubt, that if she let herself play into emotions, as he was doing, that she would play completely. She would win, and let her heart take full control. And when he was gone, she would get game over. And she knew what that felt like.

Pan had read enough romance tales in her pre teen years. She had sat around for enough gossip in the kitchens to know what it was like to have a heart broken. She had seen woman collapse and never get back up from it. She had felt the same way with her grandfather… but her grandfather had been her friend. Had been her supporter.

What would be like to lose your whole world? To lose your life, and not to death, just to an unresponsive recipient. An unrequited love.

She would not give away an emotion she held dear, to the snobby prince of the country, only to pick up the scattered pieces in a few days.

It wasn't worth it.

No matter how much her heart was telling her it might be.

Her brain refused the notion.

Pan stood up and looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time. Her face looked tired and almost sad. But this was the way it was going to have to be.

She pulled on a smile, and walked back up stairs.

Trunks was already standing in the kitchen, staring at a cupboard for no specific reason, when Pan came into the room. He himself had already dragged himself out of bed, and found his now-dry clothes from yesterday and pulled them on.

Pan came into the kitchen some time later, having already gone down stairs and washed, then returning upstairs to get fully dressed. She was wearing a pale blue dress today, and he found himself glad that he was wearing a borrowed black tunic instead of his own he had worn here. It too was a light blue, and his eye for coordination told him they would have repelled each other.

Her hair was tied behind her in a braid, and a ribbon seemed to be woven through the parts. It was a style he had seen at home, and was surprised that she had been able to do it on her own, as he always thought a second person would have to do it. He slightly wished he had seen her do her hair, just because it would be interesting to see someone braid their own hair.

Pan was looking through the cupboards with small enthusiasm, and Trunks caught sight of her hand. She had raised her left hand to open a cupboard, her sleeve riding up to show off the well bound hand. He stared at it, knowing full well why her hand was bandaged, but the knife accident seemed so long ago, instead of yesterday morning.

Had it only been a day since he had kissed her?

It was strange standing there, watching Pan reach up on tip toes, and scuttle around the kitchen, her skirts swishing at her ankles. It was like he had seen this routine every morning of his life, and he would not know what to do if it were suddenly gone.

Trunks swallowed. He hated being here. He hated being on this stupid farm.

Because he didn't want to leave.

He shook his head, utterly refusing to think about his feelings on this place, or even Pan, and cleared his throat in an obvious gesture of impatience.

Pan turned from the cupboard and sighed.

"I'm not overly hungry, are you?" she asked. He made a small noise and tilted his head in an 'I don't know' fashion. She threw him a look before closing the door she had opened. "It rained last night."

"Did it? Thank you, I didn't notice," he replied, which was met with another look.

"Yes well, it's the best time for apple picking," she said, walking towards the door outside. Trunks looked after her, then turned to catch up.

"Apple picking?"

"Yep. You'll get a bit wet, but the apples soak up all the rain, so they're very juicy. Come on," she said, opening the door and walking outside.

The grass was thick with rain causing Pan to have to hike up her skirts halfway to her knee in order to keep herself somewhat dry. She was walking towards a round tree not far from the house, which was obviously filled with apples. The tree looked rarely picked from, and Pan quickly explained that it was a private tree more than a crop tree.

She stood underneath the tree and let her skirts drop. She looked up for a moment before kicking her foot up at the trunk and grabbing for a branch. Trunks looked on in mild awe at the way she could quickly swing herself up along the tree, especially in a dress. She swung her feet onto a branch and edged forward along it.

"Catch these, will you?" she called down. Trunks obediently moved to stand more below her. She reached across and pulled a large red apple from it's twig. It snapped off, causing the branch to whip lash upwards, the dew on the tree showering down.

Trunks made an unmanly noise and hopped out of the way of the water onslaught. Pan laughed from her branch and tossed the apple at him before going to get another one. Trunks decided to keep his distance from underneath the branch this time, and wait where he was for Pan to toss the apples down.

She threw three more down, then grabbed one last one which she held in her hand as she dropped down herself. She landed on bent knees, water shaking down on her. She didn't seem to mind terribly as she took a large bite from the apple she held.

She walked over and grabbed the other apples from Trunks, shoving them into her apron, then returning one for him to eat.

"They're good," she said when he shot her a glance. He took a bite. He had half expected, with the surprises he seemed to get on her farm, that the apple would taste as if it had fallen from heaven. However, an apple was an apple. And while he would admit that this particular one was one of the better ones he had ever had, there was no call to sing its praise.

Then he realized that Pan wasn't really either. She had commented that they were good, which they were, and that they would eat some for breakfast. He scowled at himself for trying to be contrary to something she hadn't even said.

Sometimes he just liked being contrary.

He looked up, expecting to see Pan watching him for signs of approval, but instead was met with the sight of her retreating form. He jogged to catch up.

"I'm going into town," she said, once he caught up to her.

"Oh? And I have to come?" he asked, remembering that she had forced him to come with her last time they had left. She looked at him casually before shrugging.

"Not really. I think I can trust you enough… can't I?"

"No. Well, I mean, yes, but I'm coming anyway. What if your loving fiancé shows up, hmm?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows in what he thought was an amusing fashion. She side-glared at him.

"Come if you like then, but don't wander off by yourself. You could get lost and then I'll have bought it for nothing."

"Bought what now? Sorry?"

Pan moved her hand by the corner of her skirt, a bag clinking as her fingers brushed it.

"When we go back tomorrow, you said your father will call a ball. It's what you got sunburnt for yesterday, remember?" she asked, lightly hitting his head, where it wasn't truly burnt, but rather sore from the sun's heat.

"Yes, you learnt to dance so that you would go to the ball." Pan nodded.

"Right, so… I need something to wear," she said simply, walking slightly ahead as Trunks paused in his own walk. He raised an eyebrow then caught up. She looked at his expression and raised an eyebrow of her own.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't you have a dress? You're wearing one now." She looked at him as if he had gone half mad.

"Well… yes. But this isn't really for a ball," she replied, gesturing at her clothes. Trunks have a crooked smile.

"I didn't think I'd see the day when you behaved almost like a girl. A little girl who only has to worry about colour coordination and her curls." She glared.

"Just because you wear every day clothing to special occasions, doesn't mean I will."

"That's because my 'every day clothing' is nice enough for any occasion."

"Which is why you can't even dress yourself."

"My heritage allows people to tend to me, whereas all you have is yourself."

"And I'll always have myself."

"Yes, and I'll always have my heritage."

"And that's all you'll have," she said, quickening her pace to show that she wasn't amused by him. He caught up anyway.

"Do you really think that's all I'll ever have?" he asked. She glanced at him, and looked at him searchingly. He wasn't sure what she was looking for, or whether she found it, but she looked away and sighed.

"No. I think that what you have will be up to you."

"And what do _you_ think I can have?" he asked her. She paused in thought.

"I think… that you could have the world, if only you tried not to get it," she said simply. He opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped. He wasn't positive what she meant, and wasn't sure if he even knew what she was talking about, but he did know it was a compliment of sorts.

It amazed him how accustomed he had gotten to Pan's facial expressions and tones of voice. So when she said something, with an almost distant look, voice lowered into a soft sound; he knew that what she was saying was coming right from her. From Pan.

And he wanted to keep her cryptic compliment to himself, with no explanation. So one day, when things got rough, he could remember.

Remember that stubborn annoying Pan, thought that he could have the entire world… if only he didn't try to get it.

And a faith in a boy like that, from a girl like Pan, was something that wouldn't be forgotten, even long after the girl was herself.

* * *

I came, I read, I reviewed. Good Romans. 

Angel Eevee


	18. Misdirected

**A/N:** see chapter one for disclaimer. Also, there is a DigimonMovie quote flung in here; it was funny in context, so… yeah. This is a record, I think, on speed updating. I hope it appeases all of you update hounds. Thank you for all of the reviews last chapter, I got some of the best ever there. J

Sylver-Ajah: There is a thin line between hilarious and wrong. Making Trunks wear a corset flirts with that line. Though your eagerness to see Trunks in women's under clothing, that I can relate with. P

**Last Time:** Though the set up is there, Trunks doesn't kiss sleeping Pan; he observes her in sleep, as she later does to him as well. The castle-killer got his stuff and is heading out to see Pan. Pan almost realizes that she is falling for Trunks, but has made up her mind to not let it happen, because she doesn't want to get hurt. The two went apple picking and start to head into market.

**"Misdirected"**

Trunks was happily chewing on a dew-soaked apple that he had had to practically tackle Pan for. She had picked enough for them to each have two with one extra, so she was just being impish when she withheld his second apple in her apron. Thus, upon the refusal to give up an apple that was his, and one that she didn't want for any reason other than to deny it from him, he saw perfectly good reason to attack her.

Standing in the middle of the path, he had grabbed her around the waist, tipped her body into his arms and threatened to spin her around so the apples would fall out and he could grab them all. He didn't want to imagine what Pan would look like to anyone who walked by – a girl floating in mid air.

He wondered how far all the witchcraft rumours had spread around the farm since he had arrived.

After having her head hang lopsided over his arm, and being in the distressing situation of the blood running to her head and her skirt threatening to ride too far up, she hollered a truce and gave him the apple after being set right up.

"You shouldn't go against me," Trunks said thoughtfully, small sprays of apple bits spilling on his chin which he quickly wiped off. Pan turned around and walked backwards so she could look at him.

"I think it was just coming between you and food that was unwise," she commented. Trunks shrugged.

"It's not my fault I'm hungry. You don't eat much around here do you? I mean, what did I eat yesterday?" He raised his hand and made to start listing them off, underlining each point with a finger ticked. "Pie, pie, pie aaaaaand… pie."

"Maybe you're just used to too much food. It's a wonder you aren't fat as anything."

"I don't have an inch of fat below my neck," he said proudly. Pan stared at him before breaking into a grin. Pan's true smile did wonders for her appearance. Someone could be beautiful but still unattractive. Such was the case of Pan, on a higher scale. She wasn't ever unattractive, nor beautiful. She was pretty, and cute, but when she smiled, really smiled, the inner Pan that lurked around in her soul shown through slightly, and it made her prettier.

Trunks, personally, thought that when she wasn't scowling or joking… and sometimes even when she was… but when Pan was acting like… Pan, she was much more attractive. The slight dip under her eyes that might be permanent would fade, any skin aging due to the sun worked to her advantage.

He thought it odd, truthfully. How someone's face could change so quickly. He never thought Pan was ugly. She was pretty, and really, borderline beautiful… but he liked it when she was herself.

He wondered if everyone's appearance was hiked up when they let their personal emotions flash across their faces and open the window to whom they really were.

He blinked with a start at the sound of a snap.

Pan had snapped her fingers inches from his face and was looking at him questionably.

"You ran off their for a moment," she said quietly. He shook his head to get the last of his inner thoughts out of his head.

"Yes. I was thinking about your face," he admitted.

"Hum, well, think away. I personally try to forget yours."

"That's odd, because wasn't it just this morning that I caught you feeling up my face?" he asked, eyes turned in his head as if he were really thinking of the answer, his elbow held by his opposite hand, and his chin rested thoughtfully on his fist.

Pan rolled her eyes.

It wasn't until they had gotten to a shed that Trunks realized that they had been walking in the wrong direction. They were taking a different route than the one that they had taken last time they ran into the market, and he wondered briefly if they were going to a different market.

She swung open the shed door, and a familiar bad smell reached his nose. One that wasn't pleasant but was very welcome at the moment.

"Horses," he breathed through his teeth. Pan glanced at him and nodded.

"The ground is really wet, and I don't want to walk through the forest paths when it's like that. But it won't be a problem for them," she explained her reasoning, walking into the shed towards a cinnamon horse. She ran her fingers through the horse's mane for a moment before making a noise with her tongue and unlatching the door.

Trunks decided to take a few steps inside and towards Pan. She noticed his movement and beckoned him closer, bringing the horse from its stall.

"You're not afraid of horses are you?" she called. Trunks shot her an undignified glare.

"Of course not. I learned to ride one as a small boy. I'm very good, so I can have a horse too." She looked at him.

"I'm only taking one horse, Mr. Invisible."

"Fine. Can I lead it?" he asked. She paused in her stroking of the horse's neck and bit her lip.

"Well… we're going through the wet forest. You can't gallop it, no matter how much you want to. And seriously, did you learn any type of riding other than for speed?"

Trunks nodded.  
"I can ride a horse, ma'dam. Slowly if that is your desire."

"No, it's not my desire, but that's the way it's going to have to be," she said looking at her horse carefully.

She pulled on its reigns and lead it out of the shed, making sure Trunks was out before she pulled the deadbolt back on.

"Okay," she said almost in a sigh. If someone were to ask her why she was letting the prince, of all people, not only ride her favourite horse but lead it as well, she wasn't sure if she could give them an answer. It was just… looking at him, as he looked casually at the horses. It was as if some small part of his former life was back, and she would feel like a heel if she didn't let him enjoy it.

"Okay?" he repeated, not completely believing that she would let him.

"Okay, you can lead. Get up," she instructed.

Trunks was by the horse's side in a second, hoisting himself up with grace. The horse didn't make so much as a noise, which seemed to surprise Pan.

"I thought it would get upset about having weight, but no person…" she thought aloud. Trunks raised an eyebrow.

"You let me climb on a potentially upset horse. That's not very nice, Pan. Besides, I'm not positive, but I think animals can see me. When I was first coming here, a chipmunk stole my food."

Pan giggled.

"Animals can see you?" she asked.

"I think so."

"Then why can't you see yourself in a mirror? Ha ha ha… hah. Hmm, that wasn't very good."

"No, rather low class insulting. That's okay though, it's still morning. We'll excuse it," Trunks said, extending an arm down to Pan for her to hop up.

"Very generous of you," she said in comment to the insult, though declined his hand and hopped up on her own automatic jump. Years of horse training with her father had taught her how to mount a horse quickly and efficiently, long dress aside.

She moved forward, close to Trunks, giving the horse as much free back room as possible. Slightly fearful for the lack of reigns to hold onto, and images of herself going flying over the prince's head, caused her to snake her arms around Trunks' waist.

He stiffened momentarily then leaned back a bit so that her cheek was pressed into his back, her knees coming up to rest against his upper thighs, and her hands folded squarely across his stomach.

"Remember," she cautioned. "Slow. Just trot the horse."

He nodded in understanding, and within minutes the horse had gotten used to Trunks enough to obey his command to start heading for the path.

The money jangled at Pan's side, reminding her what she was going into the market for. To buy a dress for the ball. Trunks' ball.

She snuggled further into his back and smiled.

* * *

He hated how people would comment, whenever they were visiting from the market or a populated town, that the sound of the birds was one of the joys and comforts of the country. They enjoyed taking their vacation spots off in the middle of some harvesting hillside where the owl's hoots would lull them to sleep and the early birds would slowly drag them to the wakening world in the morning. 

This was wonderful to the person who didn't have to live with the noises all their life.

It was odd for Goten, to have his early morning background played around with. As a child he was fully aware and familiar with the sounds of the wildlife outside. Especially a particular woodpecker that liked to peck by his window.

(He had secretly named the bird 'Woodapeck' before his older brother came at it one day with a shoe, and his dear Woodapeck never came back.)

One got used to the noises… they didn't really _like_ them, as the world seemed to, they just got used to it.

So, on the days when one was away from their familiar farm wakeup calls, one's entire sleeping pattern was thrown out while visiting someone else.

Goten stretched lazily and curled his toes trying to shake some energy into them. He had been surprised to wake up due to sharp light coming through the shutters. He was even more surprised that he could have slept in to where the sun was now.

Without the silly birds squawking their salutations, he was amazed at how long he could sleep for. Feeling slightly over-tired, he stretched again.

Goten paused, arms halfway above his head in mid stretch.

Perhaps his lay in was due to how much he had drunken the night before. He cast his mind back and recalled that he indeed had had a drink and…

Goten sat up suddenly. They had talked about a girl, one that he promised he would identify that day. He squinted through the window.

He could go check the body still. Find out for sure, and then come back to the inn keeper who said he would try and describe what the man who had supposedly drugged her had looked like.

Then he would have to deal with his little niece. If it really was her old friend there, he wondered how long he could go without telling her. He didn't think he would purposely avoid telling her… she would only be angry and upset in the end. And an angry Pan was never a good Pan.

With his mind set upon seeing the body, and either confirming or denying his fear of who it was, he was able to get dressed and ready quicker than usual. In almost no time at all he was standing outside the building he needed to be at.

He was waiting outside, just standing, almost waiting for an invitation in. A part of him feared looking, for Pan's sake, but also because it was a dead body, and he hadn't seen a dead _person_ before, and was unsure if he could handle it. He took in a deep breath. The air was rich with moisture, and the fresh smell of grass, dew and a slight scent rosemary seemed to be in the air. He relished in the familiarity of the smells, and with this familiar background he was able to push open the door confidently and walk through.

There was a small bell on the top of the door that rang out as he walked in. The handful of men that were sitting in the room a bit away all turned and looked up sharply. One rose to greet Goten.

"I'm here to see the body," Goten blurted out, causing raised eyebrows from the rest of the group. Goten swallowed and closed his eyes. "Yes. I'm here to see the body."

* * *

Vegeta was agitated. 

He had been sitting in the council room for nearly an hour now. Things had been discussed, and situations gone over, but some aspects had not yet been reached. There was always a list of things that needed to be addressed when they met. He never really knew what they were – that was the job of some other person. Someone on the council whose sole purpose was to know what they needed to discuss.

Never knowing what was going to be brought up had its severe disadvantages on the King. If it were for a new policy he would have to think of his opinion on the spot and back up proof to reinforce it. Sometimes if he thought for too long the council members would shoot him amused expressions.

As if they found his show of humanness to be funny.

He couldn't imagine how they would react if he said he wanted the night to think about it. He almost wondered if they would dare to laugh out loud.

Because of this, he always tried to make sure he had an answer for everything. It wasn't that hard after so many years of ruling. His wife had been the one that had instructed him. Simply know your values and morals she had said. Know what you think is right and what you think is wrong. What is acceptable and what is not. When change can be good, or bad. If he could lay out what he thought about things, she had said, to everything, then the answer would already be there, and he wouldn't have to think about it.

She had raised a hand to her chest, palm out, as if telling him to stop. He thought she might have been afraid he would contradict her and say she was wrong, hence her hand gesture, and then she continued.

"I'll make up my mind about what colours to buy and how much money I'll spend _before_ going into the dressers. This means that when they start rolling out the gorgeous but expensive outfits I can say, 'no thank you, I've already decided no', instead of trying to dissuade myself or vice versa about what's being offered."

He remembered making a comment about price not mattering to a Queen.

He remembered she made a comment about pigs and kings.

But she had been right. He had applied her theories to himself. While diligently reading his written materials, he would always tuck away his opinion and decision when situations came up. So when they were later discussed in the council, he already knew what he was going to say.

He liked making the members of his council somewhat astonished at his knowledgeable, backed-up opinions.

He liked up starting them because they seemed to try so hard to make him look silly.

But he couldn't upstart today. He couldn't astonish people. Because the council member responsible for the next issue was not present.

It wasn't even a matter of tardiness, for it was much beyond the time to be late, fashionably or otherwise.

He drummed his fingers, losing his patience with just sitting there and not talking about anything. Where was that council member!

"Alright," he said, hitting the table. "Where the hell is Koslin?"

* * *

He didn't care how much he thought about how Pan's life had so many benefits. He didn't care that he was slowly almost not caring about going back. Trunks didn't even care that he was falling for a peasent – all he cared for at this moment, was the feel of the well worn leather between his palms, the familiar jolt of horseback and the small noises the horse would make every now and then. 

It was so nice to be back in his element. To have a taste of home. This is what he wanted. He wondered if he could ever convey to Pan how much just letting him control the horse had turned to mean to him. He hadn't realized how much he needed this reminder of normal life.

Or maybe he just had not realized how much he really liked horseback riding. A few years ago he went riding every other day, but now he didn't go out as much. His father, as of late, had decided to give him more responsibilities on the kingdom. His whole charade wasn't real, and he knew that whatever his father assigned him was trivial and nothing he could royally botch up.

He didn't know if these princely assignments were for future training or if it was just another way for the king to infuriate his son. He had a million. His father liked to have the guards run their patrols outside of his window before dawn. He liked to make him read long and tedious books. He liked to make him copy long passages from said long and tedious books.

None of which was useful, only set out to bother Trunks. It hadn't taken long before Trunks realized this. He wondered if his father knew that Trunks was aware that all he was asked of was quite near meaningless. Some of the things; scribing, organizing trainees, hearing requests… Hum.

The one exception. The one day that something odd happened while listening to his citizens rant to him. Pan had showed up, and things had been quite flippy since then.

With the girl on his mind, he glanced behind himself to look at her. Her hair was being gently blown behind her, completely away from her face, which was a sight he hadn't seen much of. Her hair always seemed to be flying in her face.

Something he could relate to, he thought, brushing lavender hair away from his cheeks. Her eyes were closed, though he didn't think she was asleep. Every once and a while her grip on his torso would change, and she would shift slightly behind him.

Her hands were wrapped almost loosely around him. He faced forward again, looking at the twin arms practically resting in his lap. They were that balanced skin tone that Trunks had earlier commented on. How a girl who worked in the sun all day never got burnt or unlady-liked tan was quite beyond him.

Around her hand though was a tightly bond cloth, surely not still stopping blood, but more acting as a block against any new dirt or grime that tried to get into her cut. He truly was sorry about her hand. He hadn't really been looking at her hands when he went over to get a kiss from her.

He took one hand off the reign, and ran his fingertips like ghosts over the bandaged hand. He was about to run his fingers over her non-covered hand when he paused, fingers rose, and squinted ahead.

He could hear rustling… foot steps.

He was briefly startled about what to do. What if it was some thief? A murderer? Or maybe an acquaintance of Pan?

Pan!

Trunks turned quickly on the horse's back and patted Pan's head quickly to try and wake her up. She wasn't sleeping, so only a few pats were needed to pull her out of her state of drowsiness.

"What?" she asked, her voice clearly irritable. Trunks nodded ahead.

"I think someone's coming."

"So? People are allowed to go through the forest."

"I know but… they can't see me," he said. Pan sat up, her head jumping back from where she had leant on him. He briefly wondered if she had drooled on him. The realization that she was riding behind a person that didn't even exist in the views of someone else had hit Pan.

A brief flash of fear flashed across her face and she bit her lip.

"Okay," She said to herself mostly. She took her hands from around his waist and fidgeted with them in her own lap. She was muttering quickly under her breath, and glancing around. He hoped she was thinking about what to do. Because with the way they were sitting, it would surely look strange to a passer-by. Pan would have her arms stretched unnaturally away from her holding the reigns, and she would have to be leaning to the side to talk to them, because although they couldn't see Trunks, he certainly acted like a visible roadblock for Pan.

"Get in front," Trunks whispered back to her. She stopped wringing her hands and looked up sharply.

"What?" she asked.

"Get in front," he repeated, motioning for her to almost switch places with him. She looked as if she were going to argue against something but ultimately chose not to. She jumped down quickly causing a protest from the horse. She dodged up to the front while Trunks scooted himself back. With an offered hand and a grip on the reigns, Pan hoisted herself back onto the horse.

She nudged it forward, and a slight noise from Trunks made her think that she was only driving the horse until the person was passed. She craned her neck to look ahead, and could make out the form of a man slipping and walking awkwardly over the root covered path, a supply pack falling uncomfortably from his back to his side.

She repressed a snicker.

The city travellers were always the easy ones to pick out. She felt a breathe against her check and turned her eyes to see Trunks' chin practically resting on her shoulder, as he also tried to crane ahead and see around her.

She was watching him, the horse still walking steadily along, when she saw his eyes widen momentarily then his mouth broke out into a beautiful smirk.

"I know that guy," he said quietly. "He councils my father. Koslin. I wonder if my Father sent him to find me…" Pan looked at him carefully.

"Do you want to talk to him?" she asked. "Tell him about the spell?"

"No," he replied, glancing at her as if she were mad.

"Well, okay then," she said shrugging her one shoulder, knocking his chin back.

The man had caught sight of them and was stumbling towards them at a quicker pace then he had been walking. She straightened her back and quickly tucked any bits of hair behind her ears. He stopped a few feet ahead of the horse and looked up at her.

To him, Pan was just a girl on a horse – no other person was sitting behind her. And certainly that certain someone was the Prince, the person he was probably searching for.

Pan raised her eyebrows, non-verbally asking what he wanted.

"Madame," he said, his voice sounding screechy even without the exertion he wasn't used to. "I am heading for a homestead, but wondered if you could further direct me so I'm sure I'm not lost."

Pan pulled on a pretty smile and nodded, keeping her eyebrows raised in wait.

"Yes, well, I'm heading for the Son farm. Where Miss Pan lives? Do you know her?" Pan froze in her spot, looking at the man cautiously. Her hands tightened in the reigns and she bit her lip. She was thankful when Trunks leaned forward and said silently in her ear to not tell him. She wasn't sure what she should or should not tell the man before her. She felt she had a reason to withhold him from things, but couldn't explain… but if Trunks ordered her, well, an order was an order.

"Oh yes, I know Pan," she said, watching the look of hidden glee cross his face. She fidgeted. "She's a bit of a brat," Pan winged on. He smiled at this, clearly waiting for a set of directions. Did she show him? Trunks had said not to tell him who she was, but what about where she lived?  
Surely he didn't want to give up the opportunity to talk with someone from the castle. Relay a message, perhaps?

But Pan didn't need to think of an answer to this question either. From behind her Trunks grabbed her arm and thrust it to the side, pointing in a direction not of her house.

Pan straightened a finger so it looked like she was really pointing.

"It's about half a day's journey that way… on horse," she added. "So it may take a bit." The man, (Koslin was it?) seemed to accept this, and gave her a quick nod in thanks before heading in that direction.

Promptly Pan found the reigns being taken from her hands and strong arms looping around her waist to hold them. He edged as close as he could get, and she squeaked a bit at the feel of him up against her, his breathe brushing over her head. She supposed she couldn't make a fuss about his proximity since she had been just as close, if not more, when their positions had been reversed.

"So why did we do that?" Pan asked him, slightly leaning against his chest and looking up.

"Because he's a stiff that works for us. I don't like him much," Trunks said.

"Ah."

"Yeah. He smells."

"You don't like him because he smells?"

"No, I just don't like the hermit."

"Geez, well, name one thing he's done to you."

"He brought you," Trunks murmured. She glared at him, but she had the feeling the glare went unchecked, because he seemed to be concentrating very hard not to look at her face at the moment.

Pan smiled.

"I wonder how long it'll take him to realize we so messed him over."

Trunks laughed, and because she was against him, it shook her body slightly as well. She couldn't help it, and it actually sort of puzzled her, but she wore a smile, and it didn't feel like it was going to fade away.

* * *

His jaw was set and he was unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fingers at his side. The officer took a step closer to him. 

"Are you alright?" he asked cautiously. Goten nodded.

"Yes. Only… I've never seen…" he trailed off, eyes fixed almost un-blinki

* * *

ng on the stiff body in front of him. 

The officer shot him a look of pity before placing a hand on his shoulder.

"There's a bar keeper here. Says he was going to talk with you?" the man asked, to which Goten nodded again. He did remember saying yesterday that he would talk to this man. He would tell Goten what her murderer looked like.

He wanted to know who did this to her. Who would do this to Pan.

The officer walked away, presumably to let the barkeeper in. Goten didn't make a move to turn around and wait for him. He just looked down at the girl.

Her vibrant red hair was pulled back behind her, and it looked so awful on her, as he was used to her rather wild hairstyle. It wasn't even just the style, but the vibrancy, the life… she screamed dead.

He had always thought that the dead would look to be in a cold sleep. That was how his own father had looked, hadn't it?

He cast his memory back, to years ago; the day when he found out his father would never be around again. It had hurt, he realized, but in an odd way. He had seen people cry over the loss of a loved one. He always thought that they were crying because that person was dead. But when his father had died, he realized the misconception.

People didn't cry for the dead. They were dead, away from this world, and probably in a much more pleasant after life. People cried for themselves. They cry because they'll never be able to talk to that person again, never be able to seek help from that person, see them, hear them…

He didn't cry after that first day. He refused to cry for himself. No more tears were spent on his father, and he always felt that, wherever he was, his father appreciated it. He could picture his father smiling. Even if that was not the face he was last imprinted with.

His father had been chilled, his skin clammy, and his eyelids turning a faint blue. But he was still his father, and had he not known he was dead, he might have mistaken him for merely sleeping. Of course he had died in his sleep… but either way.

The memory of his dead father's body was far off from the body in front of him. Her skin seemed to be stretched across her bones, her cheeks looking hollow. The blueness was etched across her eyes and mouth. Her expression seemed to be troubled.

Goten wanted to look away but was finding himself oddly entranced. It was the sharp noise of a door opening and closing that brought him out of his stare. He turned and saw the bartender in the doorframe. They locked eyes and remained silent for a moment, each waiting for the other to start.

"Do you recognize her?" he asked tentatively, breaking the silence. Goten nodded. "So… you would like to know who it was, yes? Mind you it's not fact that it was this man… it's more what I think and the guards may lean towards. I'd bet everything that it was him. Sometimes you just _know_ don't you?"

Goten took a step away from the body and towards the man. He nodded that he wanted to know who it was, and after straightening his shirt he got ready to describe the man.

"Well… rather short, you know?" he asked, placing his hand at a level in the air beside him. "He had a voice that was squeaky yet… deep as well. He had a weird look in his eye… robes. He was wearing ro- oh! He had the royal crest. He was a messenger from the castle. Can you imagine? The king's council running around the country side killing people."

"Did he smell a little funny?" Goten asked suddenly. The man raised his eyebrows.

"As a matter of fact, I did notice that," he commented. "Hey! Are you okay?" he asked frantically. "You look like you've seen the ghost. If it upsets you we can take this conversation away from the body," he offered. Goten shook his head in a daze and gulped.

"It's not that, it's just… I think I sent that man to my niece…"

* * *

I'm not sure if I can write another chapter before my exams (June 19-24), as fair warning. I'm in cram mode from now until then. 

Angel Eevee


	19. You Aren't Pan

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. Thank you very much for the reviews, and a cookie with thanks to those that wished me luck on my exams. I'm off to do them tomorrow and will keep the luck under my belt. )

**Last Time: **Goten confirmed that the person dead was indeed Pan's fortune-teller and learned that the man he sent to Pan was the murderer. Pan already met the man on their way into town on horseback, and Trunks misdirected him to the middle of nowhere

**"You Aren't Pan"**

"You seem content," Trunks murmured, causing Pan to glance up at him. They were still riding horseback, now Trunks behind Pan, though he still held the reigns and Pan still leant against him. Instead of leaning fully forward into his back, as she had been before, she was mostly leaning back onto his chest. Her head was pressed against his upper chest so she could turn her eyes up into his.

"Content is a strong word."

"No it isn't. Peccadillo is a strong word."

"No, that's just a long word, which I doubt you even know the meaning of."

"I do actually, but you're avoiding the comment."

"The comment about the strength of words?"

"No," Trunks said with waning patience, "of your contentness." Sensing his reluctance to carry on, Pan decided to indulge him and answer. She turned her head back to facing in front of her. She leaned back into Trunks, having already explained before, that it was hard to ride without the reigns, so leaning against him helped her keep balance.

"I'm amused mostly," she said quietly. Trunks raised an eyebrow though she didn't see.

"Amused?"

"Yes. I'm just thinking of that poor man when he finds out he's walked a great deal of a way for no reason. I'm sure I'll feel guilty about it later though…"

"Don't. No one likes him."

"Yes, well, no one likes you either, but we don't send you off in wrong directions."

"Ha, you would if you had the chance. If you had caught me alone and lost a few days ago, you would have sent me on a goose chase. And your evilness doesn't end there, we must make him steal pies and beat him with brooms while he sleeps."

"Okay," she said, her voice filled with sarcasm. She had her head bent backwards on his chest so she was looking up at him, at such an angle that she thankfully couldn't see fully up his nose, but at such an angle that his eyes seemed to stand out drastically, and she briefly noted that he had thick eyelashes – something she hadn't noticed before. She wanted to see him while he slept now, imagining long lashes covering his admittedly striking eyes.

She shook her head slightly, dragging herself out of her thoughts and back to the conversation they were having.

"Okay," she said again. "Firstly, maybe I would misguide you, but that would be out of spite for your answer at the castle. Secondly, I making you steal a pie is hardly a sin when you had been doing it all day anyway. And lastly, I had every right to whack you with a broom. You were on my property." She returned to a more sitting up position, though still leaned back against his chest.

She rubbed her neck distractedly.

"You all right?" he asked, glancing at her kneading her neck.

"Yeah," she said quietly, "I just didn't sleep the best last night."

"I suppose that's my fault too." Pan looked up sharply to see the expression on his face, in order to determine if he were joking or serious. He didn't seem to be meaning it – she had been worried he was bitter about things, thinking that she was blaming him for everything. But whether he meant it or not she couldn't tell. He was just looking at her expectantly. She shrugged.

"It wasn't you. Just lack of sleep really…" she trailed off, remembering her complete lack of sleep before Trunks had come in. She had been laying in bed, fidgeting over the horrible storm outside, and too worried to do a thing including sleep. She thought she would be up all night, but then the prince had come in.

Without much permission he had plunked into her bed, and she was amazed at the difference it made. Whether it was because she had someone's company, or if it was just the prince in general, she wasn't quite sure.

But she knew that when he was beside her, not only did he provide a warmer bed because of his body heat, but also his chest was naturally something comfortable to lean against. But a good sleep or bad sleep didn't matter; it didn't take away form the fact that she got only a few hours the night before.

She idly wondered if dark rings were forming underneath her eyes. She had heard that stress could make you look years older. And she was relatively stressed the past few days. Because taking care of a temperamental invisible prince was the most relaxing thing in the world.

Heh – no.

Pan's eyes were dropping in the wonderful position that she was sprawled in. Leaning fully back against the prince who wasn't complaining yet. His own hands were rested in her lap holding the reigns.

Yes, the prince's chest was very comfortable. Her eyes weighed a tonne… but she couldn't possibly go to sleep. Trunks didn't know the way to town, and she wasn't in the mood to get lost when she woke up.

As though Trunks were reading her thoughts he looked down and patted the side of her face lightly.

"Go to sleep, Pan. You're exhausted."

"But-"

"But nothing. I'll follow this beaten down path so we can get there… I'll just hope the path leads to where we want."

Pan looked up to where she was, and that yes, if they took the current path they were on, they would get to town. It would take a bit longer than she had first thought, but it would still get them there. And she really wanted to sleep.

Deciding, she let her back relax fully, turned her head and let herself drift, the steady beat of Trunks' heart lulling her into a place that was already calling to her.

* * *

She ran her fingers over the bottle distractedly, feeling the smoothness and slight warmth that radiated from it. She had never really noticed any heat from the spell before, but then again, not only did she rarely make them, she also rarely kept them for long. Most people, who wanted them, wanted them right then. 

She supposed that warmth from a love spell would be natural. Love in itself was warm wasn't it? Warm and cozy. She stuck out her tongue and lifted the bottle to eyelevel.

This love wouldn't be warm. She would have to change the prince's feelings… just because he would no doubt fall in love with Pan. She tried to think back and think if she had planned this. Had she? She couldn't recall. She couldn't remember if she had originally wanted him to just have friendship, as she had told the prince, or if she really had wanted him to fall in love with Pan.

Fall in love with someone eventually, yes. Pan? She shrugged. It seemed to just be working out that way. Secretly, she had thought the two of them might claw each other to death from their mutual hatred.

Secretly she thought Pan would have won.

But it wasn't much a matter now. He would come back different than when he left. He would be a changed person, and she shivered at the thought of throwing the spell at him. Why a love spell? A love spell for her no less?

It wasn't as if she wouldn't mind marrying him… he had all very nice qualities, except she didn't love him, and he would not love her. And whether her master, the king or even the prince believed in love didn't matter. She did. And she would not marry without it.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, knowing that the King and Queen had had quite the squabble over the same subject just yesterday. It was funny how women were with the emotion.

She had always learnt that women were more in tuned to the forces… perhaps it's what made all women more aware of love then men… whether they were spell casters or not.

A sharp knock at the door startled her, and she had to catch herself before she dropped the bottle. As the door to her room creaked upon, she quickly pushed the love spell amongst other cosmetic lotions and threw a towel over the collection.

She turned on her chair where she was sitting, once eyeing the spell and herself in the mirror, and looked to the door. She wasn't entirely surprised to see the Queen standing there.

Bulma nodded once before entering the room uninvited. She closed the door lightly behind her.

"Your majesty," she whispered out, making a move to stand and pay proper respect, but the Queen held up a hand forbidding her to do so. She fidgeted in her chair, uncomfortable with the Queen standing in front of her, and herself just sitting by her mirror. She may be unwillingly plotting her son's overtaking, but she was still a citizen, and still felt the need to pay respect to her rulers.

"Will you tell me where he is?" Bulma asked suddenly, though quietly. She frowned. She had thought the Queen would have given up on this.

"I believe they will be here tomorrow, my lady," she said softly. The queen shook her head.

"So you've said, but I want to know where he is."

"Perhaps I do not know, my lady," she tried to muster up with innocence.

"Stop that," the Queen said with a quick wave of her hand, obviously fed up with pleasantry and proper honour due. "Just tell me where my son-" the queen stopped talking mid-sentence, her mouth slightly open, as if she had seen a ghost and was too preoccupied with it to remember to shut her mouth.

The princess blinked and followed the Queen's eyes to see what she was looking at. It caught her by surprise and fear when she realized that the clear blue eyes were directed to her cheek. With a horrible feeling she turned to the mirror and noticed that, yes, her efforts to conceal her still prominent bruise had yet to be reapplied. She had been staring at her love spell instead of hiding the price for her transgression.

She bit her lip at her reflection, wondering briefly if she could make up some marvellous story as to how a dark bruise was streaked across her cheekbone. She turned back to the queen.

Bulma had closed her mouth by this time, but her face was a mask of emotions. Concern, anger and fear were playing most prominently.

"I thought you were not telling me out of secrecy or spite," she murmured, almost to herself. "But that's not it… you just can't tell, can you? You _can not_ tell." Bulma was looking at her cheek with the utmost concern, her teeth running over her bottom lip.

She didn't reply, uncertain with what to do.

"You can't be treated like that," she said, walking over to her and bending to her eyelevel. "My husband is very strict about some things, and this," she gestured gently to her cheek, "is one of them. Did someone do this to you?"

She felt numb and relieved. She didn't know what she should do in this situation at _all_. If her master were here she would have more faith in herself. Deny deny deny. But he wasn't here; only she was, facing the queen, making horrible love spells, fingering an injured cheek…

She swallowed and felt the urge to sob.

She nodded to the Queen's question, strongly forcing the tears back down her throat. Bulma narrowed her eyes, though not towards her.

"Who was it? Please tell me…" she looked into her eyes, and she knew that whatever she said, the Queen would know if she were lying or not. It was an odd feeling and she couldn't quite say where it was coming from, but she knew this to be truth. But how could she tell the truth?

Maybe… maybe she could. Tell the Queen who had slapped her. Tell the Queen who it was. This would lead to how he had planned a love spell and she had spelled the prince to save him.

She had never considered telling anyone before because then her master could just punish her to the point of wanting to be dead. The contract bound her to this. However, the queen would be on her side. The king as well, so it seemed.

They would apprehend him, and could make him tell them her name. She was sure the royals would do that for her. She was bound to him as long as he had her name, but if they could get him to say it…

Why, he was a complete coward, he would cave in with her name in a heartbeat under the right sort of motivation.

It seemed too simple now. All she had to do was tell the Queen. Her master had never forbade her from it, had he? Tell her, and all would be taken care of. She smiled slightly, before it turned into a small grin.

She looked up to the Queen and opened her mouth to reply.

* * *

"Your majesty," he said meekly. Vegeta looked up, irritated and glared at the two men; one standing at full height, one of his councillors, the other with his head bent in a bow, dressed as low nobility. 

"What?" he barked impatiently. The bell announcing lunch had to be ringing soon. He could feel it. The hairs on the back of his neck were raising… waiting. Waiting for that blessed tone that gave him leave of his throne and allowed him to go eat with his wife.

The councillor made a hand gesture towards the man beside him.

"This man has come to you with a need of a signature. A contract that needs to be renewed, my Lord." Vegeta looked mildly caring.

"So I'll sign it," he said impatiently, the man holding the papered document looking as if his birth date had come early. The councilman put out a hand to stop the man from advancing towards the king.

"Actually, my Lord, you need to decide whether it is lawful to be signed," the councillor explained. Vegeta sighed and rubbed his temple. Where was that bell?

"You want the king to look at a personal document?" he asked with exasperation.

"Well, sir, the original was signed by your father, and the conditions are…" he paused, sending a look to the man, "… odd. It is your decision whether it should be resigned or not."

"Is there a reason not to?" he asked, "Other than to spite my father?"

"It is more a matter of personal belief, you highness," he said quietly, though the glare he shot the man holding the document, gave Vegeta the impression that he didn't agree with what was needed to be signed.

Vegeta paused, praying for a bell tone.

None came.

"Very well, present your case," Vegeta ordered. The councilman bowed and walked from the room. The man took a step forward towards the king.

"Your highness, it is a matter of the sacred vows of marriage, and keeping contracts between fiancés true. Some parents trying to stop their daughter from upholding their end of a marriage bargain."

"Wait," Vegeta held up a hand. "This is all about some girl?"

The man shook his head.

"No sir, it's not about 'some' girl…" Keipher paused. "It's about a girl named Pan."

* * *

The bartender blinked at him. 

"You sent him after… your niece? Do you know him?" he asked, his voice almost afraid, a tone Goten hadn't heard before and it made him notice the slight Celtic accent present in the voice. He was momentarily captivated by the odd pronunciation before he shook his head urgently.

"He asked directions before I had a drink… I sent him to where she lives," he explained. He cursed loudly. The bartender looked sympathetic.

"Tell the guards," the tender suggested, but Goten shook his head.

"They'll hold me up forever, and be very suspicious if I say it was a King's man that did this. You were right, I remember, he was from the castle. I had thought… my niece had been there a few days ago on business. I thought that's why he needed to see her."

"Well it could be… perhaps he never even meant to kill this girl," the bartender said, waving vaguely at the now covered body. Even though he was suggesting the idea that he wasn't going to harm Pan, Goten was disagreeing with it.

"She was a friend of Pan… my niece," Goten whispered. "There has to a connection. I don't know why he would want to get to Pan, but I have to stop him." He looked up with sudden ferocity, and the bartender shot his eyebrows up from the change in emotion.

"How do you plan to stop him? I think… he could hold magic."

"Yes, well, I have something stronger than magic," Goten said, punching a fist into his palm. "Besides, I know the roads better than anyone. I can get there maybe before he even does… round up all the help… they'll defend Pan…" he trailed off, forming a vague plan in his mind. The bartender looked slightly sceptic but did not say anything. Goten nodded to himself in confidence and all but fled from the guards' room. The bartender shrugged and made to return to his bar.

The bartender nodded to the guards and said that no doubt the young man would return. The guards had themselves a deep game of cards going, and simply waved him out. The streets were relatively busy, though he wasn't sure if anyone would really be looking for any of his drinks… after all it was still morning and the only ones that wanted to drink then wanted to drink all the time.

Nevertheless he walked back to his bar, stopping only to greet his passer-by's – a child with a large bag of nuts, and old woman who was complaining about bread and a young pretty girl who was glaring intently at the empty space beside her as she walked.

This young lady, of course, was not staring at an empty space, but more at the prince beside her who had once again opened his mouth and said something stupid.

Pan shrugged at him and made a point to ignore him. He returned her shrug, folded his arms and followed where she was walking. She turned quickly into a shop causing him to walk too far and have to halt and backtrack. It made him look silly, he knew, and was well aware of her reasons for doing it.

The two walked inside, and while Trunks dropped himself against the wall, Pan walked cautiously further into the store.

"You don't have to stay," Pan whispered to him. Trunks folded his arms and plunked himself on the window's ledge. By his sudden stance, it was apparent that he had no intention of leaving. Whether he truly wanted to stay and watch her pick a dress for the ball, or if perhaps he just didn't want to get lost in the market was uncertain. Either way, he had taken a seat, and was now positioning himself in comfort, as if he thought he could be there for a while.

Pan wasn't standing long at the door before the owner glided towards her, attracted by her youthfulness, and her eyes were casting down her body. Pan turned and smiled softly by way of greeting to the woman.

The woman herself held no smile directed towards Pan, though a smile was worn on her face. Her eyes were speeding over Pan's body, checking measurements and designs mentally. By the time the woman reached her, she had an eerie feeling that she knew more about Pan's body than she did.

"Let me be of service to you, dear," she spoke kindly. Pan looked at her carefully. She was past middle age, with the beginning of grey hair slipping in amoung her chestnut strands pulled back in a tight bun. Her own apparel was a step past simple and not eye catching. The woman's own wardrobe did not compare to what she made though.

Pan had cast a quick look around at the colours she could see, knowing that this was the place her own mother went when she needed something special.

"Is it for the royal ball?" she asked cautiously, disregarding Pan's non-nobility dress, disregarding station, only keen on finding a dress and making a sell. Pan nodded lightly.

"Yes, for the dance," she said needlessly. The woman nodded to herself.

"Well, let's find one you like, and I'll make sure to have it sewn up by the ball."

Pan paused in following the woman further into the store and blinked.

"What do you mean 'sewn up'? Can't I take the dress with me?" The woman laughed.

"Hardly. Then how would I fit styles to everyone? No. You can choose one and I'll copy it to the colours you want and to your more exact measurements. Haven't you gotten a dress before, dear?" she asked, coming to a stop in front of a row of fabrics. Pan shifted.

"Not like this," she replied. The woman looked at her sideways but said nothing.

"Alright. Well, you picked a good place to come. I can usually find first time what suits a girl the best," she said. She reached up and grabbed Pan's chin, pulling her face close.

"Maybe I could… no, the cheekbones aren't exaggerated enough. The blue would offset the eyes – anything will go with that… oh, good lip structure…"

Pan swallowed, trying to avoid staring the woman in the eyes. She felt like an intruder that didn't need to be there, as the woman scrutinized her face.

She took a step back, letting her eyes roam a full body pose. She tilted her head before turning back to the sea of clothes again.

After a few minutes of rummaging she paused and glanced back at Pan. Pan was leaning to the side a bit, trying to get a quick glance at the outfit she was going to pick.

"Whom are you dressing for? For a date yourself, or for the prince?"

Pan bit her lip subtly, before casting a look behind her to where she knew Trunks would be.

He was still sprawled over the window ledge, one knee bent with an arm resting on it, the other dangling down onto the shop's floor. He was quietly inspecting his fingernails.

Pan fought to keep her face colouring neutral.

"Yes. I'm dressing for the prince."

"I thought so," she said, yanking out the one she had paused on.

Pan looked at it sceptically, all of the ribbons and ties she could see already looked uncomfortable. She reminded herself that no dress would be comfortable. She hesitantly took them from the arms of the woman.

"I know it looks hard now, but once you go layer by layer it's easy to see where things go. And I'll be here if you need help.

Pan smiled slightly while walking to the changing screen she had been directed to.

She had passed Trunks on his way and gave him a look. He had taken the hint, because he moved from where he was sitting to a spot near the screen, waiting to see what she would look like.

It seemed like forever that he waited, lightly drumming his fingers on his knee, a habit he had picked up from his father. After numerous curses and a few renditions of painful moans and grunts, Trunks wasn't sure if he should go behind the screen and save Pan from whatever that horrible dress was doing to her.

But he recalled rather vividly the day his father had accused his mother of having little patience and of weakness. She had stalked to her closet and flung him one of her best dresses.

'You put _that_ on,' she had said 'and we'll see how strong and patient you are.'

His father had made a comment about wearing woman's clothes and asked his mother what she was implying.

Trunks didn't recall how it actually ended, but both of his parents had been in happy moods by the end. Or, as happy as his father got.

His parents had the oddest relationship, he thought while idly picking off specks of dust and dirt from his pants. They fought like anything but it never lasted for long. One always would yield when they needed to. It was odd. He liked the way his parents functioned, maybe not on some aspects, but as a whole he liked how they weren't angry at each other for long. He liked how outwardly his father was familiar if anything with the Queen, but he knew they had a much closer relationship behind closed doors. It was a kind of relationship he envied…

The sounds of the screen being pushed back caused him to drop his thoughts and straighten his posture. Pan stepped out and Trunks blinked.

Her feet were completely hidden under the layers of fabric, a thick intricate design of black spinning around the hem. There were folds in the wine red dress all the way to her waist, making her look very slim, and her skirt almost as if it were raining the fabric down in sheets.

Her stomach looked impossibly tight, though shapely; the same design weaving up to her chest, which was left generously exposed. The sleeves poofed out, and she was looking at them with some disdain.

Her gaze switched to him, and she raised an eyebrow for his opinion. He shot a quick glance around to make sure no one would be able to hear him, but he whispered just the same.

"You are a… beautiful girl, Pan," he started, gaining a shy smile from her. "I can see it in almost everything you do. What you wear, what you say… it's there. And that dress is well made, and…. gorgeous… but…."

Pan seemed to cringe at the 'but', nervously racking her hands in front of her, her fingers getting twisted amongst each other.

"But when you wear that…" he closed his eyes and exhaled.

She leaned forward to catch his answer, her head turned so that her ear would hear it. Her breath caught in her throat at his reply.

"… you aren't _Pan_ anymore."

* * *

Now I _definitely_ won't get another chapter out until after my exams. I won't even write any more until they're finished. I wrote this chapter during my study time; tsk tsk to me. I've still got to write Latin, Math and Chem, and try and speed through Harry Potter this weekend before anyone spoils it for me. Which means I'm not off exams until Tuesday; I wouldn't expect a chapter until at _least_ a week Tuesday. nods at plans Happy Summer! 

Angel Eevee


	20. School for Princes

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. Waah, thank you for all your reviews. Cookies to all. And thank you to everyone who wished me luck on my exams; very thoughtful of you. And Happy Canada Day, to… any Canadians. And I suppose, Happy July 04 in a couple of days to you Americans.

**Last Time:** A little Trunks/Pan cuddling on horse, Bulma corners Trunks' fiancee who decides to tell the queen what is going on, Keipher takes the matter of Pan's marriage contract to the king (who is desperately waiting the lunch bell), Goten runs to the Son farm to save Pan, who is now in a dress shop, wearing a wonderful dress that Trunks thought to be beautiful but not 'Pannish'

**"School for Princes"**

"You are a… beautiful girl, Pan," he started, gaining a shy smile from her. "I can see it in almost everything you do. What you wear, what you say… it's there. And that dress is well made, and…. gorgeous… but…."

Pan seemed to cringe at the 'but', nervously racking her hands in front of her, her fingers getting twisted amongst each other.

"But when you wear that…" he closed his eyes and exhaled.

She leaned forward to catch his answer, her head turned so that her ear would hear it. Her breath caught in her throat at his reply.

"… you aren't _Pan_ anymore."

Pan blinked.

"Okay… that first bit was complimentary, right?"

"Unless you heard me wrong." Pan nodded slowly, looking at him strangely. She glanced down at her dress then back at him.

"… yes, but… did you call me beautiful?" Trunks rolled his eyes. He stood up abruptly and marched over to her.

"You girls are all the same. You can't take truth at face value, you have to have it said you again and again. If you're beautiful one day, you're still beautiful the next, I don't see why you need to be-"

"I know. But this is _me_ we are talking about," Pan said, placing her palms firmly on his shoulders now that he was near her. "You, Mr I Hate Pan called me… Pan, beautiful."

"Just because I dislike you doesn't mean you aren't pretty."

"Hn, fine. But if a girl is pretty today or yesterday, why aren't I 'Pan' now as the same as five minutes ago."

"Because…" he trailed for a moment, looking up into her face. He had a fleeting moment when he thought that he should have just kept his mouth shut and not said anything, but contrary to what he had just said, he didn't dislike her. He didn't have an undying love for her, but she was starting to grow on him. And if there was something he had noticed about her from the few days together, it was her complete independence and individuality. And because of this, he really couldn't bare for her to walk around, just like everyone else.

It was as if she were trading in her identity for that of all the other ladies in the land. The dress was wonderful, but it belonged on some blonde whose greatest thought was about just how much spinning could be done without hurting any nails.

He felt a sudden fear of Pan dressing like that. Of Pan becoming just like everyone else. In essence, it would be as if because _he_ had visited her, she had changed. He liked people to change because of him, but he wasn't sure he liked the idea of a smart girl conforming after meeting him. It irked his esteem for a reason he couldn't place.

He really couldn't explain why he didn't want Pan to be like that, so he couldn't offer any explanation to the expecting dark eyes that were bearing down on him.

"It just… doesn't suit you," he mumbled out. "It makes you look like… well, a lady."

"I'm sorry, I thought the point of dressing up was to look sophisticated and pretty."

"But not when you become unrecognizable! Wear that dress if you like. You will be an eye catcher for sure. But you will not be Pan."

"I'm still Pan, you can't change who I am by what I wear."

"No, but you can change the way you're seen."

"That's because I'm wearing a fancy dress. Of course it's a change from how I normally look."

"Pan…" he paused. "Who am I?" Pan blinked again, and straightened up, removing her hands from his shoulders.

"What?"

"Who am I?" he repeated.

"The Prince?" she asked dumbly.

"Right. And what is my reputation as prince?"

"A selfish arrogant brat."

"Exactly. The crown gives me that look, whether that's who I am or not. Your dress gives off a message of its own, and it's not one that says anything about who you really are."

Pan folded her arms.

"Why do you care?"

"Because… I know what it's like to be prejudged. Now, unless you want to become one of the nameless women trying to mesh in at court and look impressive, try choosing a dress that compliments you, not your body."

Pan looked at him oddly as he retreated to his previous seat. She shook her head slightly, almost dazed. Such an odd outburst from the prince… He was looking at her expectantly.

"Look, I didn't stand out it that awful sun yesterday teaching you dance for nothing. I taught you so that you would be at the ball, and that ultimately, you would dance with me. That _you_ would dance with me. Not another look-alike lady."

Pan scrutinized him, her arms folded heavily over her chest.

"You are angry, because I'm going to look like everyone else. Aren't you always telling me how horrible I am and that you wish I were like all the normal girls?"

"I never said that."

"Not in so much words. But you think it in any case."

"What?" Trunks asked incredulously, raising his hands. "You can read minds now?" Pan smiled despite herself.

"Yes, and I can see that you… want me to change my dress," she said thoughtfully. She turned around suddenly and all but flounced behind the screen and back into the fabric area.

He shook his head. With his head back against the wall, he waited once again for Pan, shaking his head from time to time.

He could hear Pan speaking to the woman.

"I've changed my mind," her voice called through the store. "I don't want to dress for the prince, I want to dress for myself."

He smiled sadly. For how smart she was, Pan could be awfully stupid sometimes. Was it that hard to believe that he just wanted her to be like herself?

Wasn't that what this whole thing was about anyway? He had been physically cursed until he could learn something about himself; he knew what it was like. He was discovering, some things he probably knew all along, about himself, and it was odd. How a few days away from home could change a person. He didn't think he wasn't made to be a prince.

No, his upbringing demanded it. It wasn't as if he stepped away from the crown for a few days and the knowledge and behaviour of that crown were gone. It wasn't as if all his life he had some wild rampaging child that was trapped inside – one that would change its personality rapidly when it was thrown into invisibility, the countryside, and the glare of a pretty girl.

No. That wasn't it. Whoever he was acting like today, wasn't who he always was. It was someone he could be, he realized. Walking around in the country, wearing borrowed clothes, making jabs at Pan and stealing pies… it had made him act like someone not the same as the prince. He knew he could be perceived as stuck up.

He was the prince – it was expected.

But wearing a new tunic and dropping his responsibilities gave a stronger light to the personality underneath the prince's. Not to say that this new one was the real one. It was just one of them. And it worried him slightly. That he could seemingly change so suddenly just by wearing someone else's clothes…

That's why he had to stop Pan. How long would she be wearing that lovely dress, before the sudden change of clothes, surroundings and expectations suddenly caused her to become the girl who wore that dress.

Just as if he wasn't careful, he would forever be the way he was now, even after all of the spells were through.

He sighed dismally.

A slight cough caused him to look up quickly. Pan was back, re-dressed, and looking much more shy than before. Now, he knew, she was dressing for herself. She was dressing as she thought she was. Her dress reflected how she, and the shopkeeper, viewed her to be. She was looking at him with wide eyes, waiting his opinion.

He looked her up and down.

He already saw an improvement, if only in the colour, which was a rich green. It was lighter material, covering more of her chest than the other dress, but defining it better. It gathered underneath and fell to the ground, a large slit up the front, which exposed a pale gold fabric underneath, lined with a pattern of ivy-like leaves along the hem.

She twirled the sides of her dress absently with her hands. The sleeves clung tight at her shoulders and spread out along her arms, so that her fingers were almost lost in the wide folds at the end. It was a charming collaboration of green and gold, and he gave a small smile to her, trying to calm her fidgetiness while he thought.

He didn't think there was a single dress that would convey what it meant to be Pan, however, this one at least looked as if she picked it out herself. And Pan seemed so content, shifting weight from foot to foot, flicking off nonexistent dust and repeatedly pulling her hair behind her ear. Content but nervous.

"That's much better," he said finally, which was rewarded with a bright grin and another twirl on her feet as she hopped back behind the screen.

He almost felt giddy himself. Tomorrow he would be home, and he could introduce Pan to his mother. The girl that had broken the spell. The girl that he would dance with. The girl that he…

He shrugged. He didn't think he would have to tell his mother anything.

Oddly, she just always seemed to _know_.

* * *

She looked up to the Queen and opened her mouth to reply. 

She shook her head. Bulma was knelt down beside her, her eyes shifting from her own eyes and the bruise on her cheekbone. She swallowed.

This was it, she told herself. She could explain about her master, his spell on her, his spell on her son… Pan, love, the spell she had just created… everything. The Queen would listen. She would understand.

She took a deep breath.

She would be free.

With that thought in mind she opened her mouth again, ready to start at the beginning, but nothing came out. She blinked, raised a hand tentatively to her throat and tried speaking again.

It was as if someone had taken a sword and shoved it down her throat, immobilizing her voice box. She tried repeatedly, but no matter what she tried to say, it didn't form into words.

She blinked again, carefully avoiding the Queen's confused look, and realization hit her.

"I can't tell you," she said softly. Bulma looked mildly annoyed.

"You have to. I need to know for Trunks, and I need to know for my home. I can't have someone who would do," she gestured to her cheek, "_this_ running around the castle."

"No. I mean I can't tell you. I tried. But he must have prepared for this."

"What?" the Queen asked, perplexed.

"He's put a spell on me. I can't say anything that would endanger him," she replied. And it was true enough. When she tried to say anything about Trunks and the love spell, her throat just clammed up.

The Queen looked slightly horrified and her blue eyes were darting like mad, trying to figure out what she could possibly do. Whoever was doing this to her was dangerous.

"So you can't tell me?"

"Not about anything he's got me doing or he's done."

Bulma sighed in exasperation.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"That's alright," Bulma replied softly, pulling herself and her skirts to her feet. She brushed off invisible dust from the fronts. "Has anyone looked at that?" she asked, looking again at her bruise. She nodded. She had been able to deal with the cover up and ease of the pain. Getting the Queen involved would just add more questions that she wouldn't be able to answer.

"I can not say anything he has done or ordered…" she said quietly. "However, I think I can say what I did… I was the one that sent your son away."

Bulma raised her eyebrows and stared at her with a look that begged to be further explained.

"I sent him away from _him_," her last word punctured with a point to her cheek. "He is with a girl named Pan Son. He will be back tomorrow."

Bulma's face broke into a beautiful smile, leaving her to wonder if the King got to see that smile often.

The Queen all but skipped out of the room, while the girl looked back into the mirror. With a sigh, she re-checked the love spell, and after making sure it was damage or change free, she began to look for her spells to cover her bruise. She didn't want to be asked questions by people that just wanted to know the truth, but invariably would not be able to tell them a thing until her master lifted his spell.

She chewed softly on her lip.

Now that it was promised, Pan had better get back tomorrow.

Plastering the cream over tender skin, she wondered idly what the prince was doing.

* * *

The dress was a bought and sold success. Pan had happily handed over the required amount of coins to pay for the dress, the cost coming to something larger than she would have thought, and took a nice dent out of her savings, but she wasn't overly worried. Her savings could be replenished, and she had rarely ever bought something for herself. The vain, indulgent part of her brain was running a continuous slur of excuses why the dress buying was not only okay, but also necessary. 

She was happy with her choice, and knew that Trunks was as well. He had said so. He had appraised her with a smile as proof of his liking, and the same expression hadn't moved from his face.

She looked at him sideways, walking through the streets casually. His mouth was set slightly inclined, not in a full out grin, but a definite pleased look on his face. His eyes were taking in the space around him, but they were held steadily ahead of him, so Pan knew he was not awed by the town, but he had a small interest in it, as anyone would with a new place.

She shrugged and stopped herself from skipping. She mused that she was too happy perhaps. She didn't like giving off conflicting emotions. It made people think she was moody, as her uncle would say with a look he thought to be 'knowing' and give her a sly wink. As if the lunk had any idea why she would be in a mood swingy phase. She would roll her eyes at him, stupid boys pretending to know how women's minds and emotions work.

Not that she thought Trunks knew what she was feeling. She didn't even think he thought to. The prince, for the most part, took her emotions at face value. What she wore on her sleeve was what he accepted as how she was feeling. He did look deeper sometimes, she mused, but on the whole, it was her sleeve's emotions that clinched her mood.

And because of this, she hated changing moods too quick. She hated keeping the same one all the time, but change was worse. She didn't want Trunks to see her overly happy. And she was. She had never been as excited with a purchase, a dress no less, before. She imagined herself briefly, waltzing gracefully into the dancing hall, and Trunks would drop his wine cup. He would run to her, and say he had never seen someone more beautiful. And they would dance while all of the other girls were jealous. And he would pull her terribly close, as he did at the pond, and they would lean into each other and…

Pan shook her head. This was what she was worried about. She didn't want the prince to read what was on her sleeve, or probably written plainly across her forehead for anyone to read. She didn't want him to see that… she didn't hate him so much. That he had changed, if it were possible, in the span of two days. That she was beginning to feel smiley at the sight of his own grin, and actually… enjoy his company.

Who was she? She asked herself, furiously. She wasn't sure what she was, but she knew what she was not. And another girl ready to fling herself at the prince was what she was not. She expected things out of men, the ones that would matter to her in a romantic way, and sadly, the prince lacked some of those skills.

Love was certainly one of them. She had been all but shocked two nights ago when she confessed that she couldn't live without love, while he had seemed rather indifferent to the entire emotion.

The prince was still stubborn. The prince was still arrogant. He was still pompous, a pie thief, and a teller of hardly witty comebacks. However, there was a change…

… he didn't look down at her anymore. When he steered his deep blue eyes on her, he looked at her as if, almost, like an equal.

So while he was changed it wasn't enough. Nowhere near enough for Pan to consider… no. The prince just couldn't be. She could not fall for the prince. And so she tugged at her sleeve, more metaphorically then for a reason, flicking away whatever emotion was playing.

She was about to open her mouth to spark a conversation, being careful to look not jumping with happiness, simply neutral, when her nose decided to be open instead. The delicious smells of butter melting and the aroma of fresh bread caught her attention.

Apparently she wasn't the only one the smell caught, because after a quick glance at Trunks, he seemed to be looking around wildly to find the source of the smell. He also looked like he would jump the person holding said smell. Whatever was cooking, assumable some sort of bread or pastry, was attracting both of their attentions.

Well aware that they had a light breakfast and that there were still coins jingling in her purse, Pan decided to head towards the smell, in hopes of buying something divine.

It took a very short time to find the source of the delicious smell. The two came to a stop in front of a wooden stall that was once well scrubbed but was now flecked with white flour. There was an overweight man standing in the midst of the flour, grabbing handfuls of dough and stretching them expertly between his hands. In a second he whipped the strand of dough around in a knot and laid a perfect twist on a pan.

Pan moistened her lips, looking at the raw pretzels before turning to where there was a wood stove, baking more. A tin of butter was on top of the stone, being kept boiling and in liquid form. She knew that when they were finished baking he would take them out, spread the melted butter over them with his brush and sprinkle some salt on them.

She had had them before, and the heat of the morning sun was making her hungry, the sound of the butter crackling, the tantalizing baking smell… She shook her head slightly to clear it and turned a glance to Trunks. The prince was watching the man twist the dough with something akin to amazement, but when he caught her glance he raised his eyes pleadingly.

She didn't need to think twice before she excused herself and asked for two of the pretzels once they got out of the oven. He grunted and looked at the oven before returning back to work.

Pan and Trunks stood in amiable silence, the man paying no attention to them. Their want of the snack grew with every passing second, as they waited and waited. It seemed like an eternity when he finally turned to the oven, satisfied with his work, and brought the tray out. He seemed to take a very long time to brush the butter and sprinkle the salt.

But finally, he handed over two wrapped pretzels, which she passed her coins over to pay for. She took both of them, refusing to give Trunks his before they found somewhere to sit and eat them. She wanted to be far enough away, in case the pretzel didn't blend with him and she had a floating baked good that would surely draw attention.

The two walked quickly to a spot. In the end Pan found a tree to sit under that overlooked that part of the town. She sat down delicately, spreading her skirts around her. Trunks however plunked down, leaning back on his arms and gazed at her expectantly. She handed over his snack wordlessly.

He looked at it for a moment before nibbling on the corner. He had the presence of someone who was being forced to try something that was normally beneath him, and when she thought about it, eating a greasy snack on the ground was something odd for a prince, surely. But his expression didn't hold – he raised his eyebrows at the taste and continued to take small bites. Pan thought his face showed he appreciated the taste.

She turned to her own and sighed in contentment as some stray butter slipped down her chin.

"So," she said between bites. "I guess we can head home now."

Trunks looked up sharply.

"I mean, _my_ home," she said after a swallow. Trunks nodded as if that was what he thought all along. Pan didn't know what he was so eager about – she should be able to take him home in the morning.

"I wonder if Koslin will be there," he said thoughtfully. Pan grinned.

"So what is this guy's job anyway?"

"Koslin?" he asked, receiving a nod. "He is an advisor to my father. He… advises. And smells."

"Because the two go hand in hand," she said dryly. "So, your father has people to tell him what to do? Sounds tough."

"No," Trunks said, a note of edginess in his voice. "He has the advisors for other people's opinions and inputs. Ultimately he has to decide what to do. It's hard to make those decisions. You have to train hard to be a leader."

"What?" Pan asked, switching her position to lying on her stomach, her head propped up on her turned palm. "You have to learn to be a king?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course. You don't think we just sit on the crown and look pretty, do you? We have to learn which situations warrant which reactions. What to do in a crisis… leader stuff."  
"So what, you get a tutor?" Pan asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Well," he started; glad to have a home base topic of conversation. "I've had tutors since I was a child on the basics of everything. But I will have to go abroad to learn to rule a country. All of the kings do it. You send off your son to another country and that prince will act as an advisor to their king. It gives them an active input in everything that happens, so that they can see what works and what doesn't. And it is easier to learn when the country is not your own."

Pan raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised at the antics of the royal families.

"I always thought they just shoved their sons under the crown," she said quietly. "So, is Koslin a prince?" she asked. Trunks choked and laughed.

"I would hope not. No. We don't have any princes with us right now, but we have before."

"And when do you have to go abroad?"

"I think my Father wants me to once I've chosen a bride. Just so that if anything happens while I am gone, the kingdom will still be secure." He gave a small shrug. "I'm not really sure. Soon I think."

"How long do you have to stay there?"

"Well, the longer one does, the better King they've been, it was usually found. I don't know. Some only stay for three years, others for fifteen."

Pan's eyebrows shot up.

"Fifteen years away from home?"

"Well, that was an extreme."

"Isn't that for a long time?" she asked, thinking how she would be able to handle being away from her home and family for that long. Trunks shook his head.

"You do it when you're young. So when you come back you're in your late twenties or early thirties. You wouldn't want a King younger than that, and the people don't want a prince around when he's going through that 'man stage' as my Mother calls it."

Pan nodded slowly. She could not fathom being away for that long, but Trunks seemed at ease with it. He probably knew since he was a small child that that was the fate that awaited him and that he had accepted it. Just as he found her life of farming to be primitive and unbearable, she found it to be fine and simple. Just because it was the life she knew and viewed the work and sweat as normal.

While she was staring at a blade of grass that was battling against the breeze, Trunks stared at her momentarily.

"Yes. So I'm off traveling to learn. What are your plans for the future? Going to just stay and run your farm? Hide away from you crazy fiancé?"

Pan shot him a glare at the mention of Keipher.

"I won't stay on the farm," she said softly. "Probably not anyway. I don't have an immense passion to stay. I wouldn't mind staying, but truthfully, there are things I would want to do away from the farm. In any case, it goes to my uncle after, not me. So there's not point in me staying."

"Well, what would you do if you were not farming?" he asked, aware that she was willingly talking about herself without getting edgy.

"I'm not sure. Something… political. Maybe I'll join the almost non-existent rebellion and fight to overthrow your father."

Trunks laughed, catching the humour in her tone. He was glad he had come to know when she was joking or not, because before he might have flown at her for thinking such treachery.

"Actually," Trunks said thoughtfully, "you might be good at advising and stuff. You're certainly outspoken enough." Pan laughed.

"Yes, but I can't imagine it actually working out. I'm just a daughter of a farmer."

"But I promised you the title of a lady. That gives you the proper social status… though I don't think there's ever been a girl on the council…" he broke off, thinking back. Pan shrugged.

"As I said, I don't know. They're just maybes, ya know?"

Trunks murmured his agreement, switching his own position to one of lying down like Pan. He munched on his pretzel a bit while Pan idly picked at the grass.

It seemed unreal that he wouldn't be able to do this by tomorrow. That he would be cooped up in the castle again, living in the lap of luxury, and having people _see_ him again.

It seemed even more unreal that he would miss it.

* * *

"No sir, it's not about 'some' girl…" Keipher paused. "It's about Pan." 

Vegeta looked at the man nonplused. Keipher's expression deflated somewhat, as if he had assumed the world would know who this Pan was.

"Right. Pan Son. She… she is a very beautiful girl, spirited, strong willed…" he paused, looking at the King. Vegeta was showing mild interest, and Keipher knew why. Pan was very much like the King's own wife. Independent, vocal… and they had many of the same views. He had heard, from a kitchen girl, all about the squabble the royals had had over love, and he planned to use it to his advantage. He could portray Pan as the Queen, and play on the King's sympathies. Ordinarily, most of the kingdom knew that the king really didn't _have_ any sympathies. But Keipher knew that if he put himself in the same nasty spot the King found himself in, it might just work.

"Because of prior engagements, I was given the hand of her mother, Lady Videl. However, she was madly in… love…" he choked the word, showing how small he thought it to be. "… with a farmer. The law gave me the right to marry her. And I wanted to, however… well, I'm sure you know women, your highness. Once they have their minds wrapped around the idea of true love and fantasies, there's no stopping them. If I had taken her, she would have run off in an affair. Women like her aren't very loyal.

"She hated me for having a legal hold on her. When I allowed her to marry the one she wanted, I was given no thanks. No appreciation. I had to live the rest of those years, seeing her and knowing that she was rightfully mine.

"However, that was twenty years ago. Since, I have overcome my personal ache for her, and am most delighted that her very daughter has taken her place. That would be Pan, sire. The two of us see each other often, much to the dislike of her parents. And I have plans to marry as soon as possible however… her parents would never allow it. Videl still hates me, despite all I did for her, and will try and keep us apart.

"But legally, this document," he brandished the letter in his hand. "Allows me to marry Pan, as Videl's engagement was passed on to her daughter. It just needs to be re-signed by you, your majesty, and then her parents would not be able to stop us from being together."

He finished, drawing air into his lungs. It was quite a story, and he was proud of himself for it. There was not a single lie in there. Everything he said was true. He had just neglected to say that Pan didn't want to marry him either. But what the King didn't know…

The king was regarding him thoughtfully, rubbing his fingers over his chin.

"You did a service to this Pan's mother," he said quietly. Keipher nodded eagerly. "And now she is stopping you from what is legally yours."

"Yes, your majesty."

"She does not have the power to do that."

"Does that mean your majesty, that-" he was cut off by a sharp tone that echoed through the room. The king looked up quickly from where he had been dully looking at his boot.

"It means I am going to dine," he said, standing up. Keipher sighed, guessing correctly that the bell was announcing a meal of some sort. "Leave your contract here. Pick it up tomorrow, signed or not."

Keipher felt agitated, wondering why the king wouldn't attend to it after his lunch, but didn't dare voice this question aloud. After all, it looked like he had the king in a position where he would sign the document.

The king had exited quickly, leaving Keipher with an unsigned contract in his hand, but content nonetheless. He had waited months for this. He could wait one more day.

And then no one could stop him from marrying Pan.

No one.

* * *

Tralala, that seemed like a filler chapter. Alas. Please review. ) 

Angel Eevee


	21. In a Tree House

**A/N: **see chapter one for disclaimer. After finishing the fifth Harry Potter book for the second time, I have come to terms with the death of my favourite character, gotten over the shock, and managed to write this chapter. My beginning attempts were all very depressing, so I had to wait a bit. Sorry. Enjoy anyway

**Last Time: **Pan and Trunks discuss stereotyping, Pan buys a new dress (Trunks approved), the spell-caster tells Bulma whom Trunks is with, though she discovered she could not directly tell the Queen what was going on. Trunks explains about 'prince school' and Pan admits her ambition. And Keipher put in a good word for himself with Vegeta, and the King will decide whether to sign the marriage forms by tomorrow.

"In a Tree House"

"You know, it's funny how you're so proud of your country," Trunks said conversationally to Pan, licking off the last remains of the pretzel from his fingers.

"That's funny?"

"Funny that you hate the city but love your wilderness, yet fail to prove why it's so much better."

"… What are you talking about?" she said, staring at him.

"I have yet to see-"

"If you want to see some landscape, just ask," she said pointedly.

"It's not that," Trunks said defensively. He looked at her from a crossed brow and frowned. "But when we get to the castle, we'll have a Ball. And that is a high-class social gathering. One of the highlights of upper class life. I will be showing you one of the biggest things my world likes to offer. I thought it might be fair if you got to show off yours," he said, inspecting a fingernail as if it were more important than the words coming from his mouth. Pan looked at him with surprise.

"You want to give me a chance to highlight my life."

"It only seems fair," he replied, with the same airiness, digging at a fleck of dirt beneath the nail. Pan smiled softly.

"That's fairly decent of you," she said, reaching out and thwacking him on the back. He made an odd 'oof' noise as she retracted her hand, and a blue-eyed glare was sent in her direction.

"Decent enough to warrant a beating, I see."

"If that's what you consider a beating, I would _love_ to see you in a bar fight."

"Now that's not nice. I'll have you know I'm a wonderful fencer and combater."

"Oh?" Pan asked, an eyebrow rose along with her fists. She had moved to a sitting up position and placed her fists professionally one below her chin covering her chest, the other slightly forward ready to jab. He looked at her with eyebrows raised higher than hers.

"However," he murmured, reaching out a hand and lowering one of her fists. "I was also taught never to attack a lady." He seemed so serious about this rule of honour that she slowly lowered her other arm. He watched her reaction with scepticism.

"That's why you slapped me when we first met?" Trunk seemed to ignore that.

"Please," he said shaking his head, "don't tell me that men will pitch fights with ladies here."

"Not usually," she reassured him. "My Father made sure I knew how to defend myself though. It's quite easy to find yourself in a horrible position when some drunk crosses your path."

"Hmm. But I don't think any other girl I know, knows how to fight. I wonder why they aren't afraid of getting in touch with some drunk."

"Because all of the women from your world have escorts with them everywhere." Trunks nodded in agreement.

"Must be it."

"Right then," she murmured, sitting more fully up and pulling out her coin bag, counting the money inside carefully. "You want to see the best of my world…" she said softly.

"I don't want the best you can buy," he said, looking at her moneybag. "Because that's more my world, don't you think? The money?"

"Yes. I just thought I'd buy some food we can have for a meal while we're there."

"Where?" he asked, not following what she was saying, as her concentration was almost fully on counting, so her slow, quiet, and vague replies were only aggravating him.

"To my best," she said, finally replacing the coins she had taken out and sat in her lap. She tucked the bag back at her side and stood, looking down at him, making it clear he was to follow.

He stood slowly, stretching his arms above his head. She carefully slipped her shoes on, and he looked at her surprised, not remembering her having taken them off at all. She didn't waste time as soon as she had them on, but turned right down the hill and back towards the main street of the town.

He followed like a lost puppy. He didn't know the town well at all, and didn't even feel like running off from her. He might have thought it funny a few days ago, but he just didn't have the heart to waste the energy walking out of her sight.

Though, truthfully, it would be great fun to watch her search frantically for him, her anger rising and her murderous rage look flashing over her face. But it wasn't worth it at the moment, so he opted just to follow her wherever she planned to go.

And a bakery seemed to be where she wanted, because she turned quickly into a shop, the wooden door swinging closed after he managed to squeeze in.

Trunks recognized the bakery at once as the one he had been in earlier. The one where he had stepped inside and Pan had been also. Where she had back mouthed him, and he had tried to trip her. The first time she had seen him, though did not know that she was unique in doing so.

The same overweight shopkeeper was there, looking up at the newcomer and offering a wide smile to Pan.

"Miss Son. A pleasure as always. I didn' expect ye back so soon. Ye were here just de other day… planning' anotha trip to de castle?"

"Oh no," she replied, having walked up to the counter, leaning on it slightly and looking up into his bearded face. "I'm having a little picnic." He raised his thick eyebrows at her.

"Fer one?"

"No, two," she replied pleasantly, and he gave her a sly grin.

"Hope de bloke knows what he's getting'into," he said rather solemnly. There was a muffled cough from behind them, which the baker glanced at but disregarded. With his back turned, Pan took the opportunity to shoot a glare at Trunks. "Usual?" he called, shifting through racks.

"Please."

"So. Why ye have all of dis time to plan picnics, what with de right state ye are with de King."

"Actually the prince and I patched things up," Pan said with a grin. "My farm will not be a problem." He paused in packaging her bread and looked at her sullenly.

"Ye didn' kill him did ya?"

There was another poorly disguised snort from behind them. Pan shook her head.

"Though I may yet," she murmured loudly. She slid him the amounted coins while he was wrapping.

"Well, I'd hate ta see ye go. Your old man always gives me de best prices fer wheat," he said worriedly. Pan smiled softly.

"That's because you give him free sour dough every time he comes in here. He is such a sucker for it."

"Ah, did ye want some then?"

"Oh, no thank you."

"Well, take the bread free of charge at least."

"Absolutely not. It's worth every cent," she said, pushing the coins further along the counter and turning to leave, giving the baker no chance to argue. She walked out of the bakery with Trunks following, the small bell singing softly as the door closed.

"Why didn't you take it for free?" he asked incredulously. She glanced at him quickly.

"Because it is worth all the money. People offer charity like that all of the time. You learn when to take it and when not to. I'd be a brat if I took it every time."

"Oh. Why do people give free stuff? No wonder our kingdom's profits are declining."

"Maybe they're declining because your father likes to steal our land and charge more for things. You know, we have it pretty worked out here. The Queen bee just sits and has babies. It's all the worker bees that are smart and know what to do."

"What have bees got to do with anything?" Pan rolled her eyes.

"You're such an idiot," she said under her breath, walking quicker.

"No really, because I don't like bees. They sting you. And it… hurts."

"Imagine that."

"I get the distinct impression that you are mocking me in some way or form."

"Why would I mock you?" she asked, turning around to face him. She grinned at him and slapped his shoulder. "You mock yourself just fine."

* * *

Vegeta glanced up when the doors opened and heaved a sigh of relief. He was famished and would not have waited around for his wife much longer. He stood from his seat, as etiquette demanded, and watched as she crossed the floor to the table with her usual grace; hands folded lightly in front of her and eyes down turned.

She took a seat promptly, folding her skirts underneath her.

"Have you been waiting long?" she asked him, lifting her goblet and taking a sip. He made a noncommittal noise as he started in on his still hot soup.

"I was just hungry. Some low class plebeian was demanding a signed contract or something," he murmured in between spoonfuls. Bulma raised her eyebrow.

"A contract? Why were you handling it?"

"Because the original was signed by my father. It's a weird clause he's trying to pull. He had an engagement to a woman, who loved someone else, so he let her go of the hold he had."

"That was good of him," she said softly, catching her husband's eye. He nodded.

"Yes, well, she resents him for it. She's angry with him because the contract still exists, and she was angry he ever had a hold over her. So now her daughter and him want to marry, but her parents refuse out of spite for him. He wants to sign so that they will have to let them marry."

"And they love each other?"

"That's why he's so angry."

"Well… I don't know. It seems a little… odd. I mean, why would someone fall in love with a man twice their age?"

Vegeta looked up at his wife sharply, setting his spoon down. He looked at her closely, wondering if he had heard her correctly. She was looking back at him, somewhat anxiously, her thin elbows propped up on the table despite table manners. Her light hair had fallen over her shoulders, and a delicate eyebrow was raised at him.

He cleared his throat.

"Are _you_, my dear, of all people, placing conditions on love?" he asked.

"What?" she asked in turn, taken back.

"Well, I wouldn't think with your reasoning, that age would matter."

"Wha- Well, of course it doesn't. It just rarely happens like that."

"Odder things have happened. I don't find your argument very persuading."

She frowned.

"But she hates him. The original fiancée. That's what's really odd." The Queen shook her head. "No, if you found a guy that was nice enough to break a contract in order to let you live your fairytale of love… no woman would resent that man. They would love them until they died."

"So the first fiancée loves him? That's why she doesn't want her daughter to marry him?"

"No. Why would she love him?"

"You said if they found a man that nice, that you would love them until you died."

"Love in a plutonic sense," she replied with a wave of her spoon. "I mean it Vegeta, something is off about the whole thing. I'd go to find some small piece of proof in support of the story before I signed anything… like why wasn't the girl with him?"

The king shrugged.

"I don't think she's even someone of importance. I didn't recognize the name. Pun? Pon? Pan?"

"Son?" she asked.

"No, it started with a 'P'."

"No, I mean, Pan Son?"

"Oh. Yes, that was it. Why, do you know her?"

"Only by name. Trunks is with her."

"What?" he asked, surprised, sitting back while a servant girl took away his soup bowl and placed some bread and cheese in its place. The Queen nodded.

"I was talking to his bride-to-be. There's something very mixed up going on – she couldn't even tell me all of it, but it's weird. And she said that's where Trunks was, but that he'd be back tomorrow."

"Our son traipsed off to have an affair with a girl who was in love with her mother's old fiancé?" he asked, with a hint of amusement.

"I told you, this whole thing is weird. We'll have to pay attention to this. So don't sign that contract until tomorrow. Pan will be here then and you can find the whole truth."

The King nodded his agreement to his wife's solution, and lazily munched on a block of cheese. He was actually somewhat looking forward to tomorrow, then. He would beat his son so hard…

He couldn't help but smirk.

Suddenly his day had gotten quite brighter.

* * *

"Pan, we have been riding for hours, where are you taking me?" Trunks whined. Pan turned, keeping a firm hold to the reigns.

"I'm taking you to the countryside, as requested," she said in patronizing tones.  
"Stop complaining. Look at the sun. It's barely moved; we have _not _been riding for hours. We've been riding for minutes." She turned back around, keeping her eye on the road, knowing the paths well.

She could feel Trunks sigh heavily behind her and rolled her eyes. What a wuss. They had gone through the town a bit more, picking up some produce, cooked meat and wine. The prince had, typically, complained, though not overly so. He seemed to be complaining more now because he was restless. She could feel him fidget behind her, and it was starting to agitate the horse. She stroked its neck soothingly before glaring back at Trunks again.

"You aren't helping things, you know," she said calmly. He shrugged.

"How much longer?"

"Oh for heavens sake! Not much."

He sighed again, deeper this time, she could tell, with her back pressed against his front. He had a hand reached forward and resting on her thigh, set to curl at her stomach should the horse speed up suddenly. His other hand dangled uselessly at his side.

Pan took it in turns to lean away and lean back on Trunks. She liked leaning against him, mainly because it was comfortable. With two people riding the horse, her legroom was limited, so she couldn't sit as she normally would. Having him to lean back on made it easier on her back.

Besides being a physical comfort, it was obvious why she would like to just lean back against him. She liked the way his breathe tickled the back of her neck, the way his hand would tighten its hold when they did a sharp move or jump. She liked the beating of his heart, usually calm and in tuned with hers, but sometimes speeding rapidly for no reason. She liked the inconsistency.

Not that she would ever tell _him_ any of that.

She felt his chin come to rest on her shoulder and hitched her breath before looking. She had half a mind to think when she turned he would be grinning impishly at her. And why would he grin? He could read minds, couldn't he? He would be smirking at why she liked having him pressed against her. He would read deep into it… why shouldn't he? There must be some horrific reason she enjoyed the prince's body all of a sudden.

She swallowed and turned her gaze to him for a moment. So sure that he would be taunting her, she was quite surprised when she came face to face with closed eyelids and a slightly opened mouth.

He had fallen forward, in what must have been record timing napping. He had been speaking to her seconds before, hadn't he? How long had she been dictating inner monologues to herself?

She kept her dark eyes on his face, once again looking at the sharp angles, and resisting the urge to reach out and see how they worked. To feel the sharp bones underneath the skin, how someone could have such a strong face…

He mumbled something incoherent in his light sleep, not moving from his spot on her shoulder. The position was desperately uncomfortable, and she was worried that he might drool from his open mouth. She wanted to shake her shoulder roughly, waking him and shoving him off. His bony chin was digging in rather painfully.

But he was almost peaceful, sleeping there. Thick lashes brushing against his darkening skin. She thought about it, but decided she didn't really have the heart to shove him off. After all, he had let her sleep against him.

She sighed herself, and returned her gaze to the road, promising herself that if he drooled on her, she would allow herself a good slap when he woke up.

And wake up he did.

The prince snorted and blinked rapidly, smacking his lips together slowly to try unconsciously to restore moisture to his mouth. He shook his head, and gazed at Pan.

She had shaken her shoulder, where apparently, he had found a lovely chin rest in. He looked at her curiously, wondering why they were in such a position, knowing full well she wouldn't have pulled his chin onto her shoulder. He had obviously fallen asleep.

He leaned back from her and stretched his hands dramatically above her. They were both tired, he supposed. Pan had already had her nap, now he was taking his.

Or not. He looked over and was caught by her glare.

"What?" he asked her, prepared for an anger fit she would take.

"We're here," she said dumbly. Trunks raised his eyebrows and leaned away from her. He watched her promptly swing her legs and hop off the horse. He followed her lead. He stretched his legs to get the kink out of them while Pan tied the horse to a branch of a tree, feeding it a carrot from seemingly nowhere.

Trunks stood at his full height, and looked around him to see where 'here' was exactly. To see where Pan thought the highlight of her world to be. Marginally, he was unimpressed.

It was a dusty clearing in the forest, perhaps a little more lush then the ones around Pan's property, but nothing to write home about. He shook his head, slowly turning himself around completely, even going as far to look at the ground questioningly, trying to find what he was missing. What was so important about this spot?

He almost laughed at himself, as he came to the conclusion that obviously they were going to walk the rest of the way, or it was hidden a ways into the forest. But when he turned to Pan, it was almost apparent that they were not moving a great deal.

He couldn't control his eyebrows, as she ceremoniously dropped her dress, causing him to gape for a moment before harshly turning on his heel.

"Why do you do that?" he asked, voice shaken. He could feel her pause in her actions, and could swear she had turned to look at him. He imagined her eyebrow rose.

"Do what?"

"You know, just-" he made a wild gesture with his hand, "drop your clothes like that."

"Oh," she replied simply. "I didn't realize it bothered you," she said slyly, in a tone that suggested perhaps he did in fact enjoy it, and was not admitting to it.

"Right, but is there any particular _reason_ you decided to strip right here?" he implored, back still turned to her.

"I can't climb in the dress," she said simply. Trunks ignored the clue to where they were going and folded his arms huffily.

"You climbed that apple tree fine enough this morning," he said pointedly. She laughed a bit behind him.

"I've been nicking apples from there forever though. And it's an easier tree to climb. What does it matter? Look, I'm not _naked_," she said with emphasis, and he turned at her slight command.

Indeed, she had not pulled all of her clothes off; though a more daring part of his mind had a brief fantasy that she had. She was standing, not as covered as usual, but still modestly so, in her under dress, which fell to her knees, hitched below her chest. She had further undergarments tying across her chest and down her back, leaving her shoulders bare.

She was crouched on her feet, that were now bare as well, and was slinging all the food they had bought in town into a bag that had been previously tied to the horse. She paused in putting the bread in to look up at him briefly.

"You know how to climb, right?" she asked, squinting at him. Trunks blinked. He wasn't exactly sure. Of course he had climbed ropes and a few walls in his training. And all over furniture as a child. But she was referring to a tree, and he wasn't sure if he had ever tried to climb a tree before.

"I'm not sure," he said honestly. She raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

"Alright, that's fine," she said patiently. "Come right after me and place your feet and hands right where I do. And don't even bother looking up," she said, pulling at the hem of her dress. "There's layers underneath; you won't see much."

She nodded as if this settled an argument that had never existed, and flung the bag across her back, walking to the trunk of a particular large tree. Trunks looked up its length expectedly, and saw, to his surprise, half a dozen wooden planks stretched across some criss-crossing branches. He gathered they could be sat upon, and was briefly enthused about being able to sit on a platform in a tree. It would be an odd experience.

"Do I need to take off my clothes?" he asked jokingly as he approached her. She shrugged.

"If you like."

He blinked at her answer but ultimately just stood behind her, waiting for the climb. She nodded, sensing him ready, and reached up her bandaged hand to knot in the bark. She pulled a few times, and he wasn't sure if she was checking the sturdiness of the knot, or the strength of her own injured palm.

Either way, she seemed to like what she felt, because she hoisted herself up on that knot, shoving her toes against a curve in the trunk below. Moving as if she had scaled the tree many times in her childhood, and now was climbing based on a memory that was coming back with each step. Her hands moving to the next holds, physically remembering where to go, even though mentally she had forgotten.

Trunks was thankful for the pace she did. She paused with each new movement, giving him a chance to move to the place she had once been, and having time to look up and see where the next spot was.

All in all he found the climbing not too hard. Of course it was made much easier by Pan scaling ahead of him, showing him where to put his hands and feet, but it wasn't that difficult. His muscles were not weak, so the sudden pressured weight onto his limbs was not straining. The odd angles these limbs had to stretch to were, but it was bearable.

He glanced up, memorizing the next position, and for one moment, realized that the next stance was very crouched like, so that her legs were bent and low, spreading the fabric of her dress open.

Had he been a true gentleman, he would have closed his eyes and turned away. However, he was curious and not so gentlemen-like, so he let his blue eyes travel up and look curiously beneath her skirts. He felt somewhat guilty, remembering the time when he was four and he had climbed underneath some noble's wide skirt to see what on earth was underneath the hoops.

Two fat pale legs had surprised him, and he scuttled out from under the skirts, thankfully not noticed by the guest, but the horrified and angered expression of his mother had let Trunks know that she had definitely seen him. He got a severe talking to that night on how bad it was for boys to do that.

He felt the lecture seeping back into his mind, and hurriedly adverted his glance, but not without thinking how different Pan's legs were for the ones under the large skirt.

He thought back briefly, and then took another look, but sure enough, the differences were there. Pan's were anything but fat, as he knew they wouldn't be. He had seen her standing in the pool, her dresses clinging to her skin because of the water. He had known the shape of her legs, and appreciated them very much.

But they seemed very pale and… soft… now that he was so close up, and he had to resist the sudden urge not to run a finger over the length of them, to test how soft they were.

As if sensing that he was looking in places he shouldn't, Pan cast a look down at him, which he met with all the innocence he could muster, having already turned away from her skirts.

She gazed at him for a second before moving to the next position. Up and up they went, knot and curve after the other, until he looked up and watched her scramble into the flat surface of the boards.

She looked down and held out her good hand to help him up. He didn't take it, but hoisted himself up instead. His legs remained dangling over the side, and he kicked them lightly, looking at the horse below them.

They weren't that high up, but still, at a distance that should he fall, something probably would break. He turned his head, seeing Pan at the other edge of the board, half concentrating on taking the food out of the bag.

"So you came to show me your favourite tree?"

"This was my Mothers," she said softly. She stood up sturdily, and walked to him. "Your home isn't that far," she murmured and pointed. From his view, all he saw was a wonderful tree line, so with a small amount of fear, he got to his feet and stood shakily. She held onto his arm for support and pointed again.

Sure enough, just above the trees, he could see, in the distance, his proud castle, standing on its hill above the town below it. It looked eerie from such a distance, and the overwhelming feeling to go home surprised him.

Almost as if she sensed this, she patted his arm lightly.

"We'll be there tomorrow." She changed the direction of her pointed hand, and moved it towards the estates below the castle grounds. "My mother used to live over there. She never saw much of her father; because he was always off… he was rather famous. However, whenever he was in town, he liked to go hunting. My mom said that he probably wished he had a son to go along with him, but all he had was Mom. None of the people he hunted with thought it proper for a little girl to go hunting, so he built this place in the tree. So that she could come along, and climb up here. She could watch him from a distance, and still spend time with him on the rides here and back."

Pan recited the story, as if she had heard it many times, but still enjoyed it nonetheless.

"Mom showed it to me, just so, I don't know, it didn't die with her childhood." Trunks nodded.

"So, this is your favourite place, because of what it meant to your mom?" Pan stared at him momentarily, and then shook her head.

"Sort of. But you wanted to see the best of the country."

"I know. But that," he gestured towards his home in the distance, "is my home."

"Then turn around," she said quietly. He did, and sucked in his breath. She walked him to the other edge of the platform. "This, your majesty, is _my_ kingdom," she said in a whisper.

Spread out in front of them was a distance of land untouched by vast towns and fields. There were trees - lots of trees. All in different seasons of bloom it seemed, because some held rich green, but others were covered in blossoms so colourful, it was like someone had thrown water on hot steps, and the rainbow reflected in the misted water was now thrown across the trees.

They could clearly hear running water, and off to the side was a large waterfall that he could see the top of. It was much steeper and louder then the one tiny one by Pan's own property.

Trunks blinked.

He could hear the birds having mad conversations with each other, chirping away at each other rapidly, all different tones and pitches. The trickle of water was almost mesmerizing. He looked further along, and past the trees and waterfalls, began the steep incline of the rocky hills and mountains that surrounded his father's land. They steeped up like a boarder, keeping the entire majestic below from spilling out, like hands cupped around lake water.

"I can't…" he murmured, "I can't see this from the castle."

"No," she agreed.

"But… we have high towers, and-"

"Have you ever looked?" she asked quietly. He growled in frustration.

"Of course I've looked. They're my own windows."

"You can look without seeing," she said quietly. "Have you ever seen this?"

Trunks shook his head.

"I think, that there are lot of things I have never seen before," he said, almost bitterly, and sat down, Pan following after. Their legs dangled over, and each just looked over the scenery, neither really noticing that Pan's hand hadn't left his arm.

* * *

"I beg your pardon? Could you repeat that?" he asked, eyes narrowed. The woman looked flustered and ground her fists into her hips, apron soiled from the garden.

"Which part don't you get? _This is not the Son farm._ You are in the complete wrong direction. It is that way," she said, thrusting her large arm across some fields. He squinted, but could see no farm.

"I don't see it," he said. She threw her arms up.

"Well of course you don't see it. What, do you think we live next door?"

"Wait. This is a section of the Son farm, yes?"

"No. For the last time - no. This property line is the Regels land. If you want the Sons you'll have to walk half a day that way," she said, nodding again across the fields.

He made a screeching noise and stamped his foot angrily.

"She lied to me, the wench!" he cried, squeaking, jumping on the spot. The woman looked at him oddly.

"Right well. Good day," she said, vaguely worried, and backed away from the man.

Koslin straightened up and glared at the sky.

"Fine," he said aloud. "Fine. I will not play these games. They will come to the castle. I _know_ they will. She is not as clever as she thinks, my spell-caster. So, I will just return home. And meet them there."

Nodding to himself, he distractedly pulled the bits of leaves and hay that littering his robes. Grumbling and muttering, he pulled his robes up and began the long trip back home.

* * *

And there you go. Now I am off to cross the border into USA. Woo. I'm going to NewYork until Monday. Goodbye Canada. pats homeland So I can't begin to write until I get back. Next chapter should be about a week from Tuesday, sadly. Sorry.

Angel Eevee


	22. You've Changed

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. Thanks for the well wishes, New York was fun, except I had a reaction to the mosquitoes there giving me bites the size of grapes and smashed my nose into a pool. These mishaps accounted for the lateness of this chapter.

**Last Time:** Vegeta told Bulma about Keipher, who advised to wait to see Pan before he signed anything, Trunks fell asleep on Pan's shoulder, Pan took him to a tree house to show the true view of his kingdom, and Koslin discovered how misdirected he had been and decided to return to the castle

**"You've Changed"**

"One day, this will all be yours," he said dramatically, whisking a hand out in front of him. Pan gave him a look and he leaned back on his hands. "My father said that to me once. He took me to the highest tower when I was six and stood me on the window. He said that this was my home. And that I had a right to rule over it."

"You are the prince," Pan replied dully. Trunks frowned.

"Yes. But my father was showing me the kingdom."

"Well… you _are_ the prince. Why wouldn't he show you?"

"Oh, never mind. I swear, try to tell you a meaningful story, and you shove it right back at me."

"What's meaningful about a tower guide?" Pan asked with a shake of her head. "I once climbed the silo on a dare from Goten and got a pretty good view from there."

"It wasn't the display of the view. It was the fact that my Father was the one showing it. Don't you hold onto your memories with your Father?"

Pan looked him up and down before answering. It was odd to have him just start off into a strange story for no reason. They had been seating quite peacefully, munching on a bit of bread and beef when he came out with his quote. It had broken the comfortable silence, much to her dismay.

But now he seemed to have some reasoning to what he said. He had a reason for bringing it up. Because sitting there had triggered a memory, and while the experience itself, which Pan found rather priggish of him to mention since the land before them could almost belong to no one, and what ever land the royals did take a fancy in always turned out worse from start. She had felt almost annoyed that he would gesture at the majestic landscape before them, surely the most captivating spot under their rule, and have the gall to call it there own. It was no one's to hold. It was to be looked at and shared.

But he wasn't bring up a snobbish quote so much as recalling a memory he had had with his father, who he apparently held all his memories of. But there seemed to be something different…

"Well, there are a lot of memories of my Father," she said slowly, unsure of exactly why he brought it up, and almost feeling, like pin-pricks up her spine, that she should tread slowly as to what she said.

"But I mean with you exclusively," he replied.

"I suppose," she started, "that I remember the more special ones vividly. But I don't think I could remember each one completely. I have lots of memories with my Father."

Trunks frowned.

Pan was heartened. Now they would see what was causing him to bring this up.

"Well," he said, sounding frustrated. "My father didn't spend much time with me, so I remember everything he said. Being a King makes you busy."

"You don't sound too sure there," Pan pointed out. Trunks huffed.

"He didn't have time for me. He had time for my mother though, and games, and other things…" he trailed off, then suddenly turned and glared at her. "Oh shut up."

"I beg your pardon?" she asked incredulously.

"I don't want to hear about what a complainer a prince is, or how selfish he is, or-"

"I wouldn't do that," she said defensively which was met with a mock-questioning look.

"I mean… when something is important and hurtful, I wouldn't joke."

"How do you know it's important?" Trunks asked with a small frown.

"Because when you talk you don't have that lilt you usually do."

"I do not have a lilt," he said, almost frightened. Pan held back a giggle.

"Yes you do. It's an 'I'm better than you do, and I know everything' kind of lilt. Sometimes you don't have it when you are talking about certain things. Sometimes you take on a very… soft tone, like now."

"Men don't speak in soft tones," he said with resolution.

"Never?" Pan asked, moving her face closer to his. He looked on, unabashed.

"Never."

She tilted her head slightly, a small smirk crossing her face but holding no superiority. Her hair always seemed to curl around her face, giving her a pixie or impish sort of look, which fit well when she threw on her smirking face.

And this face was found a fraction from the prince's own, so close that her shallow breathe was causing his own unruly bangs to shift. She moved one arm over his legs, balancing her upper body over his and brought their noses together.

"Not even when it is spoken to you?" she said softly, far too softly to be even really considered soft. It whispered out of her lips, like air escaping a closed door. Her breath was warm and Trunks found himself holding back a shiver despite himself.

"Not even then," he said quietly, well aware of the terrible closeness of her face, her small nose brushing against his, her eyes bearing into him so that he wondered if his own eyes were crossed.

"Are you sure?" she asked, even more whispery before, her lips so close to his own that he could jerk forward a fraction of an inch and they would be locked. He dug his palms into the wooden plank behind him that was supporting his relaxed seating position. Not that his back was _anything_ but relaxed at the moment.

He could almost feel the splinters from the wood digging into his palms, cutting, bruising, giving him an anchor back to where he wanted to be – sitting calmly _beside_ Pan and munching on bread. He couldn't deny that having Pan's face pressed against his own, her voice showering over him in throaty undertones, was something he didn't want.

He had half a mind to connect the lips she seemed so keen on keeping in reach. But she was just playing with him. And he didn't like to be played with. He frowned.

"Quite sure," he said stiffly, perhaps louder than he should, given her close proximity. But she didn't seem to mind, she just pressed closer. He swore he could feel her chest touching his, and her leg seemed to want to wrap around his own dangling one.

He almost felt that he would wake up at any moment. Surely this clinging seductive creature before him was not Pan. The Pan that had thrown a down right fit when he had given her a kiss the other morning – her wrapped palm at his side a testimony of it.

Who was she? He thought wildly, taken his crossed gaze from his foot and looking into the dark eyes in front of them. They were not laughing, as Pan's often were. They were not even flashing as he could make them go. They held no anxiousness that he might expect, as she waited to get a rise out of them. They weren't even lust driven.

They were clear, though not empty. And he was strikingly reminded of the gaze she had given him that time, standing waist deep in the blue ripples of pond, hands clutched around a fallen flower petal, blinking at him, an upturn of lips, and a whisper to her palm, and then releasing it to the wind.

He breathed and thought he might choke. Pan looked like she was going to be crushed if he said anything.

"Pan…" he whispered softly. She blinked, tore away from him, and for a wild moment he thought he had indeed destroyed her or something. But no, she was back beside him, a mad grin on her face.

She promptly brought a hand to smack his head.

"I told you! Never say never, that was soft soft soft!" she chanted, clapping her hands together and being very much impishly happy. He smiled despite himself, oddly glad that she was gone from his face, glad she held some sort of demented glee. For the look she had held was disconcerting, and almost frightening. So clear yet so un-blank. He could deal with blank stares. But hers was…

He chewed his lip trying to figure out just what that looks was. And it came to him rather suddenly. While something always seemed to cloud Pan's eyes, anger, frustration or merriment as they were now, what he had just saw was nothing. Not a 'nothing' sort of stare, just that, her eyes held no emotion tangible to man. They had been clear. They had been pure.

They had been open.

The look she had given him, as a pure look, one not from her eyes but from deeper than that. It was odd sort of look that left him rather weak. He had never seen someone be able to do that, and it troubled him.

Because he wasn't sure whether he wanted to see it again or not.

* * *

It seemed like they sat there forever. The edges of eternity scraping along the perimeter of the tree planks, the faint glow from the sun over bright green leaves the only testimony as to how long they truly were. 

It had danced across the sky, and from where it sat elegantly, the prince and Pan had only been there a few hours, but they might have sworn it was more.

The prince had fallen to his back, his hands folded beneath his head as a make shift cushion, lids covering blue eyes, which would open from time to time, looking into the punctured canopy above him, or to glare at a strand of hair that dared to tickle across his nose.

Pan was lying beside him, her feet by his shoulders, her chin propped on folded arms. Where Trunks' feet sat propped near the edge, one of her arms dangled over, her gaze cast all the way down the tree trunk, causing slight nausea, which was always treated by a short time of closed eyes.

They had laid back, after Pan's pretend seduction, him on his back, her on her stomach, each gazing at the world up and below them until they had to hide behind closed eyelids.

If either of them were in a thinking mood, they may have thought it ironic that the prince would be looking up, and her down, as their positions in life fairly demanded of them. By birth right, Trunks would always be above the rest. And similarly, Pan's status allowed her to be further downwards.

And perhaps if they had been feeling philosophical, they would have noticed that each spent more time with their eyes closed rather than open. Just as each expressed to hiding behind their social status - hiding who they were.

How the prince felt he was never perceived as anything but a title, and that she would never amount to something more that her father's place allowed her to go.

Perhaps neither of them cared enough, and was just sleepy.

It was Pan that broke the quiet peace. She didn't speak immediately, just turned her head slightly on her folded arms. Her glance was cast backwards at the prince, her upper teeth rubbing gently at her lips.

It was odd to have him here, she mused, confident that that was the strange feeling she was having. Not one she had had before in her tree fort, had quite loved the view it gave as he did. She adored it, and appreciated it for what it was; a creation surpassing anything that man could do. It was beautiful. And though she was positive the prince would never say anything to that extent, she could tell he had been pleased by it.

And it puzzled her. At the time she hadn't thought about it, had simply been delighted by the small suck in of air he had took, as if the mere sight would cause _him_ of all people to gasp. But lying on the wood, looking to the leaf covered ground below; it struck her in reality what an odd reaction that had been.

She had come to accept such a thing from him. That Trunks might appreciate such things and that it wouldn't have been met with contempt. Her sharing her most secret spot in the world with him, she knew he would show it the proper respect.

And that was what bothered her. For a few days ago, if she had showed this same landscape to the prince, he would look down his nose at her and bark some madness about royal etiquette. It had only been a handful of days since she had trudged up to the castle and demanded that she speak to the King.

Hours ago really, on the grand scheme of time. Yet, how could one possibly change so much in a few days?

Pan abruptly closed her mouth, as she realized that her teeth had gnawed a slight cut into her lower lip from chewing in thought. While she didn't exactly mind sitting and analyzing the prince for the afternoon, she wasn't sure if he was really worth it, and felt more partial to just talking to him.

"You liked the view, yes?" she asked suddenly, suppressing a smile at the jump Trunks gave, opening his eyes and looking at her with some agitation.

"The view," he said, like a parent repeated to a child who had said something incredulous. Where once she might have gotten aggrieved by his stupid answer, this time she just threw him a look, sitting up and turning her back to him.

Her feet dangled over the edge as they had before they had stretched out, and gave off the appearance that she didn't really care what his answer was, especially if he was going to be saucy like that.

Human nature called to him, making him desirous to answer anyway. The mild thought of being ignored or brushed off like something menial was too much for the prince, so he sat up and moved beside Pan. He took the wine bottle they had bought firmly in his hands, and tipped it up, giving himself a drink.

Pan made a quick face about him drinking straight from the bottle, and made a slight cough that Trunks heard only as 'rack wash' which made no sense to him, so ignored it, putting the bottle down.

"Yes," he said after a moment, slightly down heartened that she hadn't jumped at his suddenness of speech like he had moments before. "I did like the view."

"I know it's your land but…" Pan trailed, trying to think of a logical and reasonable reason why Trunks wouldn't run off and tell his father about the wonderful land just at his boarders, and what could they do with it. But she didn't have to think of a reason because he spoke up before she could start.

"I'm not going to touch it," he said pointedly. She looked over at him surprised, and he was looking at her from a slightly bowed head, a patronizing look across his face. "Just because I could do anything with it I want, doesn't mean I would. Some things are better left alone," he said in explaining tones, like he were a tutor and she was a thick student. Pan made no move to reply her surprise at him.

He shot his eyebrows up and gave his head a small shake.

"What?" he finally asked her. She smiled a little, leaning back on turned palms.

"It's odd that's all," she said, almost unnerved by his fixated stare and turned her attention in front of her. She was going to express what was on her mind, but couldn't find the nerve to be looking at him when she did it.

"Odd?" he prompted her.

"Yes. It's just- well, come on. 'just because it's here, doesn't mean I'm going to touch it'," she tried to imitate him. "What is that?"

"Pan, I-"

"No, because the other day I trudged up to your thrown room, and in no uncertain terms you said that my farm was on your land and that you had every right to take it. But now you're almost contradicting yourself. In a few days! It's not just that; there are other things. You've changed in leaps and bounds, and I don't understand it," she breathed. Her chest heaved, having slurred everything on her mind in one rambling breath. He looked at her expressionless for a moment.

"What are you asking?" he finally said. Pan threw her arms up.

"I'm not asking anything. Well, okay, I am. I just don't understand how you can change in such a short time. I mean, _completely_ change in that long." She looked at him expecting an answer. He returned her pointed stare.

"First, I don't see this big change-"

"Oh come on. You are sitting and having an amiable conversation with a _peasant_," she said the word as if it were a bitter profanity on her lips. "Last night you shared a _room_ with a peasant. If I told you that you would be doing that when I first met you, you would have me thrown to the dungeons on the basis of madness."

"You don't know that," Trunks said. Pan raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "People who are mad don't go to the dungeons," he explained. Pan rolled her eyes.

"Stop it! You _know_ what I'm talking about. You would have to have noticed."

"I've changed as much as you, Miss Son," he said, folding his arms stubbornly across his chest.

"I haven't changed at all," Pan replied, frowning.

"Oh yes you have. You are taking a _prince_ to places that are special to you. You are going to a Ball. You _let_ a boy sleep in your bed. If someone had told you that at the same time as this supposed person told me these things, you would have deemed them just as mad." Pan scowled.

"There's a difference, because I haven't changed my persona-"

"You may not have noticed," Trunks interrupted her, "but you have. You probably wouldn't notice," he held up a hand as she opened her mouth in protest. "Do you understand? You don't realize it, but you have changed as well. I mean, I can not see you viciously attacking any defenceless person in your barns with evil brooms."

"I can assure you I would, and maybe it would be more of a challenge if they fought back instead of being a pathetic royal whelp."

Trunks groaned.

"As this could go in circles of childish remarks, why can't we just accept the fact that we both are acting differently and hopefully for the better."

"It's not an act though, I mean, you've changed," she protested.

"Pan," he began, lifting a hand a pulling her face so it was facing him head on. "It's only a change if one never goes back to the way it was before. And I can assure you, that when I'm back home, I will not sporadically go on picnics with peasants."

Trunks could have sworn that Pan looked disappointed. Enough that she let herself drop to the side where a thick tree branch saved her from toppling over the side. The lack of surprise on her part of almost tossing over the edge made him suspect she knew full well the branch would catch her.

"You'll go back to how you were?" she asked quietly. He raised an eyebrow and moved his left hand over his lap and beside his right hand that had been straightened to support his body. With the curve of his arms, it dragged his shoulder and upper torso in the position his arms had pulled him in.

He leaned forward, his face moving towards hers.

"And how was I before?" he asked. Pan bit her already bruised lip.

"You were cruel and arrogant and self-righteous."

"And I'm not that now?" He was considerably closer than she would have liked, the strands of hair around her chin actually shifting from his breath. She leaned away from him.

"Not all the time," she murmured. He hummed softly.

"Maybe you've changed me, Pan. Maybe you've given the horrible prince a heart, and he will become the best ruler ever, friend to high and low class alike. Maybe you'll be a heroine."

"I didn't do anything."

"Someone had to. People don't change on their own."

"Well, maybe you didn't change," she let out, her chest rising and falling rather quickly, her breath becoming quickened as his face was so close, his fingers brushing the side of her hips, his nose nudging her cheek and his breath warm and smelling of cinnamon.

"I thought that's what this was all about. My changing," he said with a smile.

"Maybe you," she inhaled deeply, well aware of his eyes on hers, inches away. "Maybe you just needed a circumstance to bring out who you are." She breathed again, her growing steadier than it had been. "That's why you're here, right? You're fiancée sent you, right? To learn friendship? Love? She can't have expected you to just learn them in such a short time. Maybe she wanted you to awaken them."

"Awaken my sleeping powers of love?" he asked mockingly. She frowned.

"Maybe."

"Hmm. She must have loved me lots to go to such extremes to get me to open up don't you think?'

"I suppose," she said, freezing, his hand reaching and moving her chin, their noses almost touching, his lips accidentally brushing across jaw-line skin, coming to rest just off her own lips. He hovered, as if debating whether to plunge forward into a kiss or not.

"I guess you will like having a future Queen that fancies love." Pan choked quietly, his talking shooting air into her own mouth, which was being accessed at a rapid pace by her lungs.

"Do you love her also?" she asked, feeling her stomach fill with flutters. Her mouth was dry and she didn't think her body was only reacting to the strong male closeness, but her heart and mind were making a big deal as well, waiting for his answer.

"What do you think?" he asked, stretching his tongue out to moisten his lips, and from their closeness brushed hers with the tip as well. Her breath hitched and against her will she found her eyelids fluttering closed, lips poised, and leaning forward.

Their lips never touched.

Trunks pulled back at the last second and stood up. He saw her lightly shut eyelids, her eyes going frantic underneath. Her shoulders moved with jerky movements. She suddenly looked up and mustered a mild glare.

"What was that for?" she demanded, and he wasn't sure if she was angry about almost trying to kiss her like before, or if she was angry because he stopped.

And truthfully, neither was Pan.

* * *

Bulma never heard him come in. 

She was poised at her writing desk, lips twisted to the side, a finger twirling absent-mindedly in a strand of hair. She had a light feather quill in her hand which she scratched against her paper from time to time, but the writings were slow and there was a pregnant pause between each.

Usually she found she could work at a fiendish rate. Not that it was really work, mind you. A Queen could never work in the general sense, heaven forbid. But Bulma had an interest in things, so took it upon herself to waste her free time designing things. She liked to make up odd things, figure things out. She would walk around the castle, finding things that worked at an insufficient level, and then design a way to make them better.

It was her hobby in a way, and a profitable one at that. Vegeta had discovered it when she had made an intricate design that allowed her to rotate things in her wardrobe, always changing which outfits were displayed further most.

He had thought, she recalled, that she had bought it off some genius mind somewhere, and intrigued, had demanded from whom. She had shrugged at him; eyebrows rose, and said that she had created it herself. The rings and wires, pulling the hooks from the front to the back so no reaching or digging would ever have to be done.

He had been rather astounded, the picture of his slack jaw and unlined face for that split moment was still vivid in her mind. And, soon learning that she liked thinking up designs, he had ordered in a writing desk to their room, and allowed her whatever resources she wanted.

She had been afraid that her interest would soon turn into a nightmare if Vegeta expected her to come up with brilliant things and always be working on something for him. They were newly-wed, and barely knew each other, so it came to a surprise when it appeared he was not waiting for her to show her brilliance.

He never asked her if she thought of anything else, and never questioned her beyond 'how was your day?' or 'what did you do today?' which were two separate things to just asking how her work was.

She had never understood it, but somehow Vegeta had known that she couldn't just think of things for him. Somehow he understood that it was something she could do, but not something she wanted to do constantly under the heavy glare of the King, husband status aside.

But he had. And because of that, when she finally found a better way to pump the water, or a cleaner way to extract sewage, he was appreciative and very affectionate in the soon after.

But today, Bulma couldn't seem to focus. She had an idea of course; she needed to find a better way to carter all of a feasts food into the Ball room. Having servants carry everything in tray by tray seemed horribly time consuming and tiring.

She wanted to get it done before Trunks' Ball, so she needed the designs now. And they weren't that hard. Solving a way for servants to carry more than one plate at a time around should have been simple and would have given her the impression of being helpful.

But her ideas would not come. Her gaze kept turning to the window, sighing, wishing her baby was back. It was in this state, mouth slightly open, quill dangling from limp hands as she daydreamed, that the King found her.

As said, she never heard him.

He was right behind her, strong hand on shoulder, mouth by her ear before she realized she wasn't alone in the room. Bulma jumped and whirled around, her quill slipping from her lacking grip, and eyes scrunching, lips morphing from a shocked gap to a scowl.

"What?" she snapped, blue eyes locking with those of her husband. He slowly took his hand off her shoulder, and by the subtle confusion on his face, Bulma shook her head, eyes closed, guessing that he had no meant to startle her.

She gazed up at him with apologetic eyes. "Sorry," she murmured. "You frightened me," she explained. He shrugged, pulling a chair from the wall and sitting in it, in a rather slouching way.

"You were off. Didn't you hear the door?" he asked. She shook her head. He sighed.

"I just want him home," she said more to herself. She bent and picked up her quill, setting it on the desk before looking at him as if she just noticed he had entered their room.

"What are you doing here?" she asked suddenly. He raised an eyebrow.

"Our son is coming home tomorrow, according to you. And if that is the case, I would very much like to spend the day yelling at him. So, I would like to rest this afternoon in wait for that joyous occasion," he said in a deadpan voice. Bulma smiled despite herself.

"Does this mean I get you all to myself this afternoon?" she asked, with as much innocent as she could muster. He smirked despite himself.

"Actually it means I get _you_ all to myself this afternoon."

If either of the guards standing watch outside of the King and Queen's chambers thought it odd those hours later, the occupants neither went to nor requested dinner; they never made voice to it.

* * *

She had only snuck down to the healer's room to steal some herbs for her spells. The bruise on her face was healing nicely, but now that she knew Trunks would be coming home, she felt that perhaps some extra caution should be taken. 

She didn't want to have to explain a bruise to her fiancé. But the slave she was using now for concealing was all but gone, and she needed some special roots to fix herself another batch.

With roots in hand she had planned to slip out again, but a patient sitting at the healer's table caught her eye. There was nothing extraordinary about him, in fact, in his dusty clothes and scowling face he was rather unattractive, but what caught her attention was the rather large egg shaped bump on his head. She probably wouldn't have noticed, but the hair was balding where it was, and it seemed to be rather red.

"Are you all right?" she asked, stepping into view.

"What does it look like?" he asked venomously. He sneered. "Why so affronted? I have no use for grass, amateur healer."

She blinked at him rapidly before looking to her hand, where her fingers clasped the roots. She held them up.

"These," she spoke rather lightly, "are not for you. And I am not an amateur healer. I am not a healer at all."

"Then what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice fallen to normal tones.

"Getting these," she said, waving the roots.

"What kind of woman walks around with roots if they are no healer?"

"I am not just a woman. I am the prince's fiancée, future Queen, and as such I can carry around roots and anything else for that matter if I feel so inclined."

The man's eyes widened and he looked appropriately humble.

"I meant no disrespect."

"None taken." She stood on her tip toes and looked at the bump. "That looks like the kind that don't bother you much, just spring up days after the injury," she said thoughtfully. He looked at her suspiciously, but nodded. "I don't like those. Sometimes you can't even remember how it happened."

"Oh, I remember this," he said, air whistling through his teeth, his chin rose, as if he were proud of the way he got it.

"Fight?" she asked mildly.

"Actually a kiss."

"Some kiss," she murmured, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed. But, that would be a Son for you," he said, wistfully. She stood rigid in her spot, before forcing her lips not to upturn.

"Pan?" she asked. He looked at her surprised.

"You know her?" She shook her head.

"She hit you?"

"Actually no," he said, eyebrows knit in confusion. "I don't know who did. It was a bowl…" he trailed off, glanced at her face and must have realized how odd his story was sounding. He turned his face away. "Doesn't matter. The healer will be back shortly." This seemed to end the conversation, and she took it as her leave, not fighting anymore to hold back her amusement.

She sent a boy to learn love from a girl, but all he seemed to want to do was drop bowls on ugly men giving them nasty bumps. She shrugged to herself, imagining an invisible Trunks taking a swing at the kissing man with Pan. She grinned and couldn't help a small skip down the castle halls.

"Trunks is jealous, Trunks is jealous…" she chanted under her breathe, looking forward to be able to sing it to his face the next day.

* * *

Thanks for reading, 

Angel Eevee


	23. Death by Rain

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. Thank you _all_ for your reviews, I will add a thank-you/response chapter when this is all done and give everyone proper thanks, because you guys never cease to make me feel special.

**Last Time:** Trunks and Pan share two almost-kisses, they discuss how both of them have changed, Vegeta decides to spend the rest of his day with Bulma, and Keipher is showing painful signs of his attempt to kiss Pan, and Trunks' reaction

**"Death by Rain"**

The sun had started to disappear at the tip of the horizon before they decided to pack up their makeshift picnic and head home. Neither Trunks or Pan had eaten much more, or talked much more for that matter, after their initial closeness and teasing almost-kisses.

They had napped, gazed and just generally enjoyed each other's silent company. It was an odd experience for both of them, because it had never occurred to the prince that one could actually have a good time with someone without saying anything. That he could simply be sitting next to Pan, watching the water falls in the distance and the wind whistle through the leaf canopy. To know that what he saw was what she saw, and to know that while she sat inches from him they were thinking the same things, surely. This sort of mutual silence was comforting and novel to the prince.

It wasn't for Pan. She had long since learned that some of the best memories were ones where no one said a thing. Ones where two people could just enjoy the sound of the other's breathing, the closeness, whether in body or situation. She had seen it in her parents at an early age. How they could sit for hours never saying a word to each other, simply basking in the other's presence. It did not strike her on a physical level, the silence, but deep down it startled her that she could be having the same sort of afternoon that her parents would create, with, of all people, the prince.

It had occurred to her that this was odd, and that while sitting in a treetop watching the landscape was nothing spectacular, it was the silence that edged around them. Because it was comfortable. And hours shouldn't be comfortable. Especially with someone who was… well… Trunks-like.

And then, even more startling, was the vocal voice in her head that was telling her to stop proclaiming everything as a miracle when the prince did something human. She was allowed to have a comfortable silence with him. This was okay. This was normal. Because he is normal. And because you-

Pan had sufficiently silenced her inner voice before it could tell her just what she was, and before it ranted what Trunk was in connection.

Pan didn't need a snotty voice in her head to tell her what she was becoming to realize. To know that when she looked at the prince, she didn't see the pig-headed man she liked to call him. She didn't see the royal title. In fact, she rarely even saw the handsome man that Trunks was. It was just Trunks. The Trunks that would be gone the next day, and she could actually admit to herself, without a doubt, something that occurred to her in the deep quiet.

That while he was anxious to get home, and while she was anxious to be able to take the burden of an invisible prince off her shoulder, she didn't want it to end.

She didn't want to wake up and find that there was no one to demand she be awake. Or no one to steal pies from the kitchen. Or no one to spontaneously kiss her while she held sharp objects in her hand…

Pan had blinked, pulling herself back to where she was – sitting in the tree. Her fingers brushed over the fabric that covered her left hand, wincing as they scraped over the tender flesh.

This would be all that was left of her time with the prince, she thought dully. And she didn't want him to go suddenly, and she bit her lip, which had more teeth abuse than was called for in a day, and didn't move. As long as she stayed still, keeping her gaze away, he would still be beside her.

He would not go.

But he would. And it had driven Pan into silence, a small hole driven through her chest, as she wanted to plea to the heavens to let him stay.

She wasn't sure why. Why she would want such an annoying, and he was, man to be with her all of the time. But it nagged at her. And she closed her eyes, unable to resist the dream of never having to say good bye to the person she was-

No. Mustn't say it aloud. Once it's said, that would be that. No turning back.

The ride home had been mostly the same. The prince was somewhat confused at the sudden lapse into silence, but subconsciously seemed to realize there was significance to it. Pan was battling with herself over her own thoughts.

She absolutely did not want the prince to stay another second.

She wanted to have him trotting beside her forever.

She wanted him to be a good person.

She wanted to teach him everything she knew.

She needed him to go.

She needed him to stay.

It was an odd sort of epiphany, to realize suddenly that your most sworn enemy turned to be someone that she was actually plotting ways to make him stay longer at her house with. Maybe she could delay taking him to the castle or…

She didn't like him. She just liked having him around. There was a difference, wasn't there?

She closed her eyes to the whole thing. Trunks had said she had changed, and she was beginning to agree with him.

There was nothing to be done. She didn't like sitting behind the prince on a horse, thinking of why she had almost kissed him just because she wanted to, or why she had let him sleep in her bed. This kind of thing was not her. Trunks was causing her to act irrationally.

He had to go. He did.

The prince, in no way, could stay at her house.

Pan would return him in the morning.

But that didn't mean she couldn't hold what time they had until then.

Her arms unconsciously tightened around the prince, and a contented sigh was breathed. Had she been more aware, she might have realized, that it had not come from her.

* * *

He had been pacing forever, back and forth, the familiar flooring starting to be worn away by his steps. Every so often he would glance up to the darkened outside, the windows open so the candles didn't cast reflections on the glass. 

It was getting darker and darker, and the softest rustle or thud would make him look up, in hope of seeing her.

Goten had been rather shocked to learn that Pan was not here. A cold fear and desperation had swept over him, such he had never felt, and his mind had raced to what he could do, sure that the castle guard he had unknowingly sent to his niece had gotten her and taken her away. To do what with, he didn't know. Kill her? Torture her? Ravish her?

He had no idea what the man wanted with her, but he did know that neither he nor she were there.

It had been a small mercy when a stable boy came by and explained that his mistress had taken a horse that morning and had gone into town. Hope had surged through Goten. Perhaps she had left soon enough to miss the man. Perhaps he had come and found her gone and simply left.

There was a shuffle. He looked up. Nothing.

His hands were wringing themselves numb, and he couldn't stop his worry until she was back home. He wondered if this is what it was like to be a parent. He had seen his mother pull a similar pacing, though hers had usually been accompanied with murderous cursing. If this was it, he proclaimed inwardly, he would remain fruitless.

There was another shuffle, and what sounded like a giggle.

Black eyes bore back to the window, and he felt like he could fly as he saw a familiar, beautiful, charming, niecely girl walk by.

He jumped from his spot, mid-pace in the kitchen and flew to the door. She had already opened it and was stepping inside, her head turned behind her and talking quietly, by the time he reached her. She faced forward, a surprised look across her face.

"Uncle?" was all she managed out before the air was sucked from her lungs in a forceful hug. He pulled her close to him, leaned back slightly, so her feet were actually lifted off the ground. A squeak was heard in the form of an objection, but he paid it no mind, and only released her when her breathing became rigid and he feared for her lungs.

She looked at him with something akin to anger.

"What are you doing?" she asked, coughing and rubbing below her throat. Goten shook his head, looking her up and down as if making sure she was still there.

"I had to make sure you were all right," he said. She scowled at him.

"I can stay alone on the fa-"

"It's not that," he interrupted quickly. "There was a reason, and still is," he said, ushering her more inside and closing the door. He locked it.

"Goten, what's going on?" she asked, a slight worry taking over her voice.

"I'm going to stay here the night. Just in case," he said, steadfastly to the bolted door.

"Just in case of what?" she asked half-desperately.

"In case he comes. I want to be able to rip him apart if need be," Goten replied, his resolute expression broken by a yawn. Pan blinked at him and cast a look behind her.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked, so seriously that Goten couldn't find it in himself to be offended. He shook his head and motioned to the table. Pan took the message as well as a seat, while he himself went and got some glasses to fill with water. A small objection and the pointing to of the bag she had brought with her made Goten bring out a bottle of wine to sip while they talked instead.

He poured it carefully on the counter, and paused briefly when he heard Pan whispering something. He looked up from the counter, into the window, where the table was reflected on the glass from the candlelight. Pan was turned again, smiling slightly and gave a nod.

She faced forward and picked at the table as if nothing were amiss. Goten let it pass, bringing the glasses to the table. He heard a slight shuffle and ran to the doorway leading to the hallway. His hawk eyes glared but neither saw or sensed nothing.

"Why are you so jumpy?" she asked, with a small tone of guilt. He looked at her carefully, her raised eyebrows, slight burn over her nose and messy hair reminding him painfully that this was the girl he had played with while she was a child and he wanted to act like one. And that he loved her immeasurably, and that he did not want to tell her what he had to.

But because he loved her, he really had to.

"I gave directions to the house today," he said heavily, dropping in his chair much the same way. She grinned and took a sip.

"Ah, the pathological sinner strikes again." Goten glared mildly.

"Panny, he was from the castle, and he said he needed to find you. I thought it had to do with the farm. I told him the way." A look at his niece told him that she had yet to spot the tragic wrongdoing, and he knew it wouldn't be apparent until he gave the whole story. He swallowed, and his throat was as dry as sand, despite the wine he was now gulping.

"I think I saw him," Pan said; in the pause while he swung back his glass. He squinted at her.

"Did you?" he asked, an odd look of panic crossing his face that she couldn't recall having seen there before.

"Yes. On my way to town today, which is where I went," she explained as he looked curious, "there was a man that asked for further directions here. I… I didn't like the feel of him so I sent him in the wrong way."

Goten felt relief brush through him, though his fingers still stayed tight on his glass. Just because he was misdirected, didn't mean that he wouldn't try and find his way back. He voiced this.

"Well, he could still come back."

"Maybe," she said with a laugh, "but why is this so wrong?"

"Pan," he began, taking a breath, and just wanting to get this over with. "Last night there was a murder in town. The bartender was positive that the man you misdirected was the person who poisoned or whatever her in the bar. He said so while I checked the body, and the description was so much the same. I'm just worried. I have to stay uncase he wants to kill you too!" he said, voice rising and falling with franticness.

Pan chewed her lip.

"Why would he want to kill me?" she asked quietly.

Her uncle stared at her sadly. Pan felt like she might choke, sliding pieces together. Goten was hesitant. Goten knew her past.

"The person he killed… did I know them?" she asked, her voice coming out strangled. Goten looked down and gave a resisting nod.

"Your friend," he said, voice barely audible. "The one that got you to run through the cornfield stalkers and do rain dances." She laughed wetly, her face distorted from trying to cry and smile at the same time. She pushed herself from the table.

Goten didn't stop her.

* * *

Trunks was staring at Pan's bed, head tilted and mindlessly tapping his foot. There was no real reason to share a bed tonight, as there was no storm, so she would sleep soundly. No reason that he would be able to justify, other than perhaps he simply wouldn't mind sleeping there, if only to annoy her. It was their last night together, after all. 

And he wasn't sure if he could go anywhere else. He was only familiar with one other bedroom, and her uncle had said that he was staying the night. What if it was his? What if, just as he was getting to sleep, her uncle slipped in under the sheets?

What if her uncle slept naked?

He shuddered slightly, and shook his head. Even if her uncle didn't take the room he had tried to sleep in previously, there was the matter of noise. He would still be able to hear Trunks, and any noise from a seemingly unoccupied room would arise more suspicion than they needed. If he were in the same room as Pan, her uncle could place the noise on her.

Yes, perhaps he had better stay there. He smirked despite himself.

Plunking himself on the bed in a rather un-princely way, he took to unfastening his boots and kicking them off. His fingers were at the edge of his tunic, pulling upwards when he paused. Having him in her bed may be enough to set Pan off, he wasn't sure if he should be in her bed shirtless.

Debating, he let the fabric drop. Besides, going shirtless really left him open, not to mention cold. He pulled at the covers, straightening them out, wondering if there were not housekeepers to make the beds for them. He was about to scoot over to the far side by the wall when the door tore itself open and a Pan staggered in. He looked at her with a silly smile on his face.

"And she graces us with her-"

"Stop it," she interrupted smartly. He paused mid-word and blinked. So soon was gone the Pan he had spent the entire afternoon with. The one that he had enjoyed the light banter with and the extreme closeness the day had brought.

This Pan was pacing quickly, her arms shaking, a bottle of wine clutched tightly in one so that he was fearful she might shatter it in her fingers. As he wasn't keen on letting her bloody her other hand he stood up and grabbed her shoulders when she came towards him in a pace.

She stopped abruptly, catching him off guard as he thought she would plough on. She looked up at him, and he was unearthed by whatever was playing across her face, so much that he let his arms drop.

"Are you crying?" he asked dumbly.

"She's dead," she said so quietly he didn't hear.

"Pardon?"

"She's dead!" she hollered, her face towards the ceiling, Trunks dropping on the bed once again in surprise. "She's dead, gone, killed! By that scummy man that smells! I hate him! I hate you! I hate grandfather!" she shrieked, the bottle actually making an odd noise in protest.

Trunks hastily tore the bottle from her hand and set it on the floor. He dragged her down beside him, hands on her shoulders once again and turned her to face him.

"Pan, talk calmly. I don't understand. Who's dead?"

"She told me fortune. She whispered it to me. And it's come true, and I didn't want it to but it did. And she said that I wouldn't see her again. She said that. And now it's true because she's dead. It's true…" she shook her head numbly, and tears were streaming on her cheeks, making Trunks have to fight back the urge to gently wipe them away.

In her more quiet and calm ramble he was able to put together what she was saying. The redhead. The young friend that had told him so assuredly to take a chance on Pan. That had earned him a rightful yelling and earned her a cut hand and loss of dignity. He had torn his faith away from her, but Pan was right… she had said they wouldn't see each other…

Not that it mattered! Surely her future predicting mattered little when compared with the distraught girl in front of him. He lowered his head to try and catch her eye.

"Pan it's okay," he murmured.

"No it's not!" she said forcibly back at him. He nodded.

"But it's okay that you're upset. Don't bottle it, okay? This is okay," he continued. He was not the most perceptive or intuitive men in the world, and his sudden words of comfort were a surprise to Pan, and would have been a surprise to Trunks if they had been his own. But they belonged in fact to his Mother, who had comforted him when his Father said tears were forbidden.

She seemed to like his tone and the warm hands resting on her shoulders, anchoring her to something other than the torment of feelings sweeping through her and the headache her troubles were causing her.

She had launched herself to his chest before he knew she had left his arm length. Her hands bunched at his tunic, and he was instantly glad he had left it on, wondering if she would have gripped his skin with the same ferocity.

Having taken advantage of leading comforter, he found he knew what could be done. And having seen her somewhat distraught the night before, he wasn't overtaken by the turn of character.

His strong hands found their way to rub her back awkwardly, and he wished he had more practice in this area.

"It's okay," he repeated quietly.

"What is?" she asked, and the wetness of her voice made him wonder how much she was crying. He wondered if she really wanted an answer or just wanted a voice to hold on to.

"It's okay to be sad with this," he murmured. "It's okay to hate… Koslin did you say?" his mind rapidly connecting with the only person they both knew that smelled. She nodded wearily, and he tightened his grip, determined to find the whole story tomorrow when she would have calmed down. And then murder Koslin for this.

"I hate him."

"And that's okay. To hate him. And… me," he said with an almost questioning tone, wondering how he came into play, before continuing to list off the people she had said she hated. "And it's okay to hate your grandfather."

Here he paused. While he had not voiced his curiosity at his name, he felt he had to for this one.

"Your grandfather?" he asked quietly. She nodded, her fingers tightening further. He looked down and the knuckles were stark white with her grip.

"Because he had to die," she said very quietly, almost to herself. "And make it so every storm takes someone away from me."

Trunks' eyes widened. Of course. Her true fear. That every wild storm always killed someone. And the cycle had yet to be broken.

He found himself cursing her grandfather as well, though it had been her kitten that had started the circle, hadn't it?

He had nothing to say, so just held her tightly and waited for her tears to slow, though they seemed to be falling with the same vigilance as the storm had.

* * *

Goten watched the window idly. He felt horrible for having to spring thatnews on Pan. He knew he would have to tell her. He had decided in town before hand that it would hurt her more if he kept her friend's death from her, and it would have been harder to explain why he was needed there without. 

But still, it hurt. It hurt in that parental way he was discovering when she had come home late and the look on her face as she left the kitchen. He had thought she would have more questions, or at the least seek him out as comfort, but she did not.

He remembered as children how she had always come to him with things. She had liked being able to cry in his lap, when she wasn't feeling very brave. She had cried just as recently when she found her engagement to Keipher still held true. And that had been only a year ago.

He was expecting her to lean into his arms, teary, and take out her bitter anguish on him. A sadness that he _knew_ she had to be feeling. His niece wasn't made of stone; things affected her. He usually had a knack for guessing which ones.

Yet she hadn't cried to him. No opened arms were needed. She had simply grabbed the bottle of wine and torn up the stairs. She had clearly taken her grief in her room; he could hear her yelling to herself.

He had wanted so much to be able to hug her and sooth, but he didn't want to invade on her. If she needed to vent this way, then he would have to comply. Goten wished very much that his brother was here. It would have been his responsibility. He could have let Gohan go and disturb her, thus becoming the insensitive father, while he went in afterwards and murmured about how stupid Gohan was, allowing him to be the winning uncle.

But no such deals could be made with him being the only one in the house. All he could do was sit and make sure it stayed that way.

His dark eyes kept a close look out the window, waiting with edgy emotions if anyone would try and sneak in. He would protect his niece from that murderer.

But by complete dark his eyes were starting to droop. It was so dark outside that he couldn't see beyond the windowpanes. Witching hour. Feeling that if anyone lurked out there at this hour in the night they would probably be killed by some hag passing through or die from the cold.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and stood from his spot. If anyone came in now, he would have to rely on him hearing them before they got to Pan. He decided to take a room upstairs closer to the actual stairwell so he could hear them on the stairs.

As an extra precaution, he placed numerous pots and pans right in front of the front door, so anyone who stepped through would unknowingly make a large ruckus of noise, and if they weren't startled off, he would surely awaken from the clatter.

He trudged upstairs, the thoughts of a nice warm bed in his childhood bedroom pushing him on. He paused outside of the door he knew to be Pan's and put an ear to the wood. He couldn't hear her anymore. No pacing, as she was sometimes prone to do when stressed, no crying that he could hear of…

He held his breath and slowly cracked the door open. He peeked through the slit and caught sight of Pan. She was laying down on her bed, most of her outer clothes strewn carelessly on the floor, her black hair falling over her face obscuring her expression from him.

He could tell by the jumpy way her side rose up and down that she was not asleep, but she was obviously not wanting to talk to him or she would have bade him in. Nodding at her decisions, he closed the door again with a soft thud and moved on to his own room.

Pan creaked an eye open with the closing of the door; lifting her head slightly to make sure her uncle had left.

She turned onto her back with a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. The prince was sitting calmly beside her, his back resting against the headboard. As if he felt her stare, he took his eyes from the wall he had been staring at and looked at her.

She hated being like this again. Hadn't last night been bad enough? What good was it being an emotionally unattached farm girl if all he ever saw her do was cry? But the pain of her death was all too real. They hadn't been extremely close, closer to acquaintances more than anything really, but it still struck her. There was a tightness in her chest that wouldn't unwind.

His hands were intertwined loosely, and she so wanted to let those arms hold her again. To just be held, as her father or uncle would have, except it would be so different from him. Because she didn't know him. Because he didn't know her. And because she felt oddly safe when with him.

She hated herself so much for wanting to be in his arms. She wound her own around herself, which offered her little comfort.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. He gazed back at her expressionless.

"Pan…"

"No, I just am. I'm fine now. You can go."

She had cast her eyes down, but at the silence that followed she drew them back up and the two held a gaze for a lengthy moment.

"You don't have to be so brave all of the time," he said quietly. Pan blinked.

"I'm not brave," she said contradictorily, staring at him as if he were rather stupid. She had been crying and tempering at him. That was not bravery.

He returned her look.

"You are. You're brave, and sensitive, and thoughtful, and considerate, albeit not to me, and-"

"I'm happy!" she said, louder than she would have liked, but needing to stop him. He did stop, his hands in the process of ticking off qualities. He smiled.

"Yes, I suppose you're happy too. Except when you're angry. And you're-"

"No!" she rubbed her temples. "I'm happy it was her. Happy. And that makes me terrible and heartless and-"

"You aren't happy it was her," he said, in disbelief.

"Yes I am."

"Pan, if you were happy it were her, you wouldn't have been so angry and upset minutes ago. Don't try and pull that. It hurts you, I can tell. Honestly, Pan. I can see it. I can _feel_ it. It hurts."

Her demure cracked a bit at his words, and she tried to keep her face indifferent.

"I'm glad it was her over my parents," she whispered, biting her lip that looked permanently bruised. "That's why it's horrible."

"No, it isn't. Everyone feels that way. It's okay to prioritize the people you know and care for. I'm sure there are lots of people you wished it had been besides her. It's okay that you're glad your parents are safe. That doesn't mean you wanted her dead. It doesn't mean you truly want someone else to die though you wish it had been _them_ instead of her. It's okay to think that you wish it had been me instead of her. That doesn't make you a cold hearted. It makes you grieving and maybe a little selfish. But everyone is selfish Pan. It's okay to be selfish."

"Why is everything 'okay' with you?" she asked, as if trying desperately to change the subject.

"Because the more times it's said, the more it sinks in." He brushed some hair away from her eyes, which she closed. She didn't move for a long while, to the point where he thought she had fallen asleep when she opened her eyes.

"Thank you," she said softly. He couldn't really remember having the words directed at him before. At least not in the sincere way that she had uttered them. He felt momentarily floored.

He remained silent, almost feeling that a 'you're welcome' would be rude and take away from what was being passed in the silence.

"You can go if you like," she said quietly, pulling the quilts on her bed higher on her shoulder. Trunks looked to her, but she refused to meet his eye. Taking this as a hint, that if she truly meant it she would be glaring her heart out, he un-elegantly slipped between the blankets and slid down into the bed.

She looked at him with a small amount of surprise but also a small smile.

"Might need a body guard if smelly Koslin strikes," he explained.

She turned on her side so the two were facing one another, and he watched her slowly drift to sleep. It was a while for her expression of stress to slip and her breathing become even. But he waited obediently until she was asleep, just so he would know that she was there. That she wouldn't be up all night worrying.

He watched her breathe a bit before closing his own eyes, his mind slipping into the sleeping world. He felt proud of his gentlemen acts that evening, though perhaps sharing her bed didn't count. But he had been understanding and offered what he thought to be sound comfort. And had made sure she slept.

There was a tilt in the mattress, as Pan pulled herself onto her elbow, fingers gently pushing his hair aside. His mind was too far-gone to wake up, but he felt her presence, perturbed that she was awake. He had waited for her to sleep!

"You're wrong. I am horrible," she whispered, and he heard it from a distance. "Because I think, I wouldn't have wanted you dead instead of her," she said, her hand brushing his face one last time.

From the far off echoing place her voice seemed to come from, in Trunks' mind, he could feel the sadness in it. He wondered how a sentence could bring her so much self-hatred and worry over.

When that same sentence made him so overly happy.

* * *

Next chapter they finally go back, and ends can begin to resolve… sort of. J 

Angel Eevee


	24. Unspoken Name

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. I think any excuse I could offer on the lateness of this chapter would be very lame and over looked. Basically I vacationed for the rest of my summer, did time consuming job training, adjusted to back to school, and saw Pirates of the Caribbean a million times. In short, I had a life. I'm sorry it resulted in such a late chapter.

**Last Time: **Pan realizes she is sad that Trunks will have to leave the next day, a worried Goten tells Pan about her friend's death and possible murder, Pan is very upset and comforted by a surprisingly knowledgeable prince

**"Unspoken Name"**

Trunks closed his eyes, mentally willing the image of the large oak doors away from his sight. He was of course, ecstatic to be where he was. His eyes opened again and he had to look at the doors carefully.

He was home. Or, close enough to it. Just beyond those doors and he would be there. And he couldn't wait to be seen again. And to just be there. At home.

There was just something about it.

But… there was just something about what he would have to leave behind too. He wouldn't be stupid and pretend that the small taste of the outside world had not affected him. He… no.

No. It wasn't this world. It was nice; a comfortable change of scenery. But he wasn't feeling this hesitant to return to his own life, just because he'd miss the country side. He was feeling hesitant because he would miss the person next to him.

He could die never seeing the country again and not think much of it. It was the girl, staring at him as if he were mad, a questioning look of 'why haven't you gone inside yet?' plastered on her face.

He turned to Pan.

How could he possibly convey to her what he wanted? How could he express that he wasn't sure he wanted to never see her again. They could be friends… they could… pass letters back and forth to each other. Banter on parchment.

"Is there a reason we are just standing here?" she asked him, a small annoyance creeping into her voice. Trunks looked at her and sighed.

"It's just… I don't think I realized what this entailed. I don't know, Pan. We've kind of… well… gotten off kind of good, haven't we? I mean, we've become… well…"

"Friends?"

"Exactly," he said, clapping his hands once. "Friends… of sorts. And it just seems… When I open these doors, it puts that rift back between us. You will be the farm girl. I will be the stuck up prince."

"First off, I won't be a farm girl. You promised me a title, remember? I'll be Lady Farm Girl, thank you very much. And besides, if you think we're friends… I mean, if we both…

"We don't hate each other," she said, obviously gathering her thoughts through her head. "And I've never had someone I could insult so amusingly. But we spent enough time being angry at each other, that we had less time to like each other. I think, maybe we aren't friends, but we get along well. And maybe we could be friends… just because we are a day apart doesn't mean we'll never see each other, and-"

"We could write. You know, just to…"

"…keep in touch…"

"Right."

"And I'll be at the Ball. Didn't learn to dance for nothing," she said, a coy grin on her face. Trunks smiled himself.

"Which will only happen upon my return. And as soon as I open those doors, I really become the prince again. So this is a good bye. An informal goodbye. A thank you.

"Thank you, Pan. For putting up with me. For taking the effort to be with me, to amuse me, to let me into your house. To agree to break my spell. You could have decided your farm was a small price to pay compared to having me be obsolete for the rest of my life. You had little reason to help me, but you did. And I must thank you for that."

The prince swiftly grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips. At first his lips brushed a coarse fabric and he looked down to see her bandage and smiled. She was smiling as well, and discreetly shifted her hand so when he moved in again, his lips touched smooth skin.

"This is how we say thank you at the castle," he murmured, giving her a slight bow of the head, a practiced step backwards so he could sweep his back. Pan didn't seem to notice his rehearsed bow and gazed openly at her hand.

She suddenly looked up at his face, searching it quickly before she took a step forward and grabbed his cheeks in both of her hands. Cupping his face she yanked him down to her level. Her eyes blinked owlishly at his, their noses touching.

She turned her head and completed what had been hinted at the day before. She pressed her lips against his, and he wasn't shocked or proud enough to stand and not respond.

She tore herself away from him, and only then did he realize she must have kissed him for a long time as his breath was coming in gasps. She smiled.

"_That_ is how we say thank you in the country."

"I knew I liked it better there," he said, not taking his eyes off her. "But Pan. You once told me that when they kissed you in the country it meant something. That you didn't do it just to do it, but had to have purpose… meaning."

"Yes. I did say that."

"Then Pan…" he swallowed, taking in all that was implied by her. She was looking at him expectantly, almost nervously. He just wanted to know what she meant by the kiss. She seemed to understand because she placed a hand lightly on his arm.

"I'm sorry. It's just, you're right, Trunks. We didn't get along. But you've been there for me, and I've come to feel that- what?" She raised an eyebrow at him. He was staring hard at her.

Same lovely hair. Same piercing eyes. Same height, same lips, same feel, but…

"You're not real," he said stubbornly. Pan raised her other eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not real," he said with more conviction.

"I don't know what-"

"You said my name," he said quickly. She stopped in mid word and gave him another look. He was not dissuaded. "You said my name. Ever since you got a visit from that fortune teller friend, you haven't said my name once. Well… you did yell it when were trapped outside and that storm was starting… but that was different.

"I don't know why," he continued, jabbing a finger, "but you stopped saying my name. I'm almost dying to know what she said to you to make you stop something like that. A name is a powerful thing against someone. If you don't say my name, you can't get close… what did she say to you Pan that was so bad?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"Oh never mind," he said shortly. "But you'll see. The real you doesn't say my name. Doesn't kiss me that well either. Heck, doesn't kiss me at all…"

Pan smiled at him and shrugged.

"Panny? Are you awake, hun?"

Trunks blinked. Pan smiled the more.

"Time for you to wake up," she said. "And you're wrong. What she told me… wasn't a bad thing."

Something fell and landed on his chest. Hard.

He blinked awake in shock, not seeing the Pan had her fingers crossed.

* * *

Usually Pan had not been one to sleep in through the morning. She had liked getting up with the chickens as a child, more so just to run around with the boundless energy of youth that seemed to annoy the bleary eyed workers so much. 

As an adult, she had let herself sleep in a bit more.

As of that morning, she had let herself sleep in a lot. It could have been that she had been out later the night before, the trip back from her mother's tree house taking longer than she had remembered. Or it could be that she hadn't sleep quite as peacefully as she would have liked and was making up in quantity what she lacked in quality of sleep.

But a small part of her wondered if it weren't due to the lavender haired man sleeping at her side. She had enjoyed waking up the morning earlier, curled up against a chest that was warm, another person's breath brushing her hair.

The prince's body added a peace and comfort to her bed and sleep that she hadn't had before. She had a feeling that that would be what it was like when she got married. Laying next to the one you had sworn yourself to. She pictured herself waking up every morning to the comforting arms of the prince – no. To whoever she married. Unless it was Keipher…

Pan felt like sticking her tongue out at the thought, but she wasn't fully awake yet and motor functions were a bit of a dream at this state. She would have loved to slowly come to as everyone did in the morning, but she was woken with a start by a voice in her ear.

A voice that didn't belong to the man sleeping next to her.

"Panny? Are you awake, hun?" Pan mumbled that she was _not_ awake and did it _look_ like she was awake, and flung herself away from the voice, arm thrown out landing hard next to her, on Trunks, eliciting a surprised yelp from him as he shot up.

Pan gasped at his reaction, and turned over, blinking foggily up at the person who had woken her up, afraid that they would have heard the prince's cry.

By the look of slight confusion on the man's face, Pan guessed he had. But she was more concerned with the face itself than the expression on it.

"Dad!" she cried, jumping from the bed, and flinging her arms around his neck. An act a bit beneath her age, though her father would never pass it up. She had missed her father, and with the storm and worrying about their safety more than she had ever had, she was extremely thankful he was home.

Home and safe.

He chuckled into her ear.

"I see someone has missed me." Gohan moved his daughter to arm length and looked at her seriously. "Goten told me what happened," he said softly. Pan closed her eyes, remembering her friend. But Trunks was right. This wasn't her fault, and it was okay. Or it would be.

"Yes," she said, as if the one word would settle her father's fear for her. Gohan's grip tightened slightly. She smiled. "It's okay… I will be okay… in time."

He looked at her oddly, but gave a small smile of support despite whatever was running through his brain. She breathed in deeply and sighed.

"So," he said, his inherited smile on his face, "did you have fun without parental supervision?"

She laughed.

"Yes. The farm boys enjoyed it too," she said, eyes scrunching impishly.

"Ah yes. Goten mentioned he thought you had someone," her father trailed off. Pan's face fell slack and she let her jaw slip.

"What?" she made out dumbly. He nodded sagely at her.

"Goten said that when he was over here once, it seemed that you were off… that some boy perhaps…"

"I have no idea what you are talking about!" she said with indignity, too enthusiastic to be taken at face value.

"I know," Gohan said, missing his daughter's tone. "Goten makes those things up all of the time. I know that you, of all people, wouldn't masquerade around with the boys like that. My Panny trouncing around in hay stacks and seducing them to bed." He laughed.

"Dad…"

"Oh, well, maybe you would do it. But just to bug them," he looked down at her, the words said with a smile but a sort of realization crossing his face. "Which I do not condone and is not funny in the least. Stop flirting with the boys Pan, next thing I know I'll walk in and one will be in your bed."

"Dad!" The look on her face was easily misinterpreted by her father. He took the gaping mouth and fierce blush over her cheeks to be indignity at his suggestion, ignoring her nervous look to the bed and the coughed laugh that came from it.

Gohan suddenly shook his head, rubbing his fingers over his eyes.

"I'm sorry. We just got home, riding all night. I'm not thinking straight," he apologized. He stood rubbing the back of his neck in obvious discomfort, giving Pan time to compose herself, but unfortunately also giving her uncle time to barge in.

"Ah, you're awake. And blushing," he added, raising an eyebrow. "What are you two talking about?"

"Remember when you said that Pan-" she cut her father off by throwing her hands at his shoulders and turning him forcefully to the door.

"Okay, I'm standing here in my under garments, _get out_," she said, shoving her father, and Goten ducked out as well.

Pan marched her uncle and father from the room and glared at the door. Her arms were folded across her chest when she spun on her heel and faced the final occupant of the room.

Trunks was awake now, sitting up in bed, a very small up turn to his lips proving he had been watching and listening to the conversation with no small amount of amusement.

"I find that odd," he said looking at the ceiling.

"What?" she asked, her tone saying her mood without having to look at her face.

"Your father seemed less than stern about you and the boys around here. I thought fathers were very protective when it came to that type of thing. But he made it seem that finding you seducing an innocent-"

"Oh, stop it. He was teasing. If I actually had some boy in my bed he would react accordingly, and I have no doubt it would be unpleasant. Besides," she said, waving her hand off-handedly, "I don't have boys in my bed."

Trunks stared at her pointedly.

"You don't count," she said dismissively. Trunks feigned a sudden case of severe shock, and when he cracked an eye open from his dramatic faint on the bed, what he expected to be a look of amusement or annoyance, he saw none.

Pan blinked at him, her face blank. He was starting to hate when she got that look. There were many looks he wasn't sure he could take from her. He never knew what to do with her. He had thought he could read her like a book when he met her, but sometimes her emotions just changed. Switched so rapidly.

"This is the last day," she said suddenly. "You'll never be in my bed again." If he didn't know better he would have sworn she was saddened by this.

"Are you going to kiss me?" he asked innocently.

Her mild sad look dropped and she glared.

"Excuse me?"

"Only you've just mentioned last day well wishes and, well I will never sleep in your bed. This is true. But I also won't be able to- ah. Have to kiss you my way before…"

Pan took a step backward from the prince that was taking confident steps forward. She frowned mentally, wondering just what he was up to and that she had no intention of being kissed, for final good byes or not

On the prince's part, he fell into a proud bow, lined with uncertainty, and reached for her hand. He paid close attention where he kissed this time, well aware of the bandage that covered her hand. He brushed his lips across it. He released it almost immediately, and Pan slowly lowered it back to her side where it sat quietly. He glanced to her expression and she was staring at him with confusion.

"It's a gentlemen's kiss," he said. "From my world," he added. He looked at her expectantly, almost expecting this Pan to also grab him and force her smooth lips onto his. She didn't move.

"Or perhaps," he murmured, almost embarrassed at her lack of response. "You would prefer a different kiss. Chaste, gentlemen like, however…" he trailed off, pulling at her hand once again and bringing him to her to delicately kiss the corner of her mouth.

This gained a reaction, though not quite the passion wrenched one he was hoping for.

She shoved him much like she had her father and looked up and down his body repeatedly as if trying to figure out what about him irritated him the most. He sighed, resisting the urge to cross his arms, and waited for the blow about kissing. Waited for her to rant and be angry with him.

But she didn't. She looked at him doubtfully, and once again he felt her eyes roam him. If he knew she wasn't thinking it, he would have thought she was looking for something physical opposed to whatever she was really looking for. He bit back a retort about her shifty eyes.

Finally, as the silence progressed from thick to unbearable she met his eyes.

"I appreciate the thought," she said flippantly, "but I still have to get you to the castle. It's not goodbyes yet."

"Pan?" he asked, as she had turned to walk apparently to the door. She paused and gave him a questioning look.

"Can I kiss you at the castle?" he asked quietly. Her breath seemed to hitch, her lip returning for another day of teeth biting abuse, and she shook her head slowly.

"That won't be the end as well. I mean… there's still the Ball. And you don't want to be seen kissing me," she said with confidence. "I'm just a farm girl."

"I promised to make you a Lady," he argued.

"Slapping a title on someone doesn't change the way a person is. I'll always be a farm girl."

"I don't doubt it," he said. She blinked at his response and didn't respond. With an odd nod she turned back to the door and walked out.

* * *

Pan scrubbed diligently at her face with the coarse soap by the basin. She wasn't ready for this. She knew on a level that she had started to feel different about the prince. It wasn't that she liked him, it was that with each day she was beginning to despise him less. And she didn't know how long it would go. If the longer she stayed with him, the more likeable he became… it didn't seem to be a thing to give up. 

She liked looking at him and knowing that whoever this prince was, she had partly shaped that. Or at least brought out who he was. It was sort of rewarding though she couldn't say what she had done to change him. She didn't much care. It wasn't as if a new invisible prince would show up and she would have to weave the redemption blanket all over again.

So, it became quite clear to Pan that she had acquired a mixed feeling for the prince. And though she had to give him up soon enough, there was a part of her that wanted him to stay. A curious part of her that wondered how much he could change in her eyes. If she was with him long enough would she love him?

But that wouldn't be right… she didn't believe in fortune telling.

While it had occurred to her that she wanted something longer with Trunks, it also occurred to her that he wasn't making things any easier. Playing warm comforter in her bed, kissing her non-aggressively, non-formally, non… Keipherish, that it made her want this to be longer then what she wanted it to be.

It wasn't fair.

She glared at the looking glass above the basin and glared harder at her reflection, sure that the girl glaring back was the source of her confused state.

* * *

"Vegeta?" 

"Mnn," came the disgruntled response. The king was lying on his side, his back towards his wife, arms bent and sprawled. Though the position would look comfortable and sleepable on any one else, he managed to look dignified and proper even in his sleeping state.

Beside him Bulma moved up on one elbow, her thing chin resting in her upturned palm. She had slipped on her husband's favourite night dress of hers after the time they had spent together. A vague pain in her stomach attested to their skipping of dinner the night before. But her hunger wasn't what she was trying to talk to him about.

She reached over and ran soft fingers up his bare arm, earning a subtle shiver from him and a clenching in his back muscles that let her know that he was awake and listening. She kept her fingers on his arm, rubbing in slow, lazy circles.

"Vegeta?" she tried again.

"Hmm?" he grunted back, but in a more coherent tone.

"I was wondering…" she broke up with a small laugh and shook her head, an action the King couldn't see with his back to her. He steadied himself for an embarrassing or amusing question that she was dying to ask. He sighed.

"You know Trunks' fiancée?"

"Bulma…" he interrupted patiently. "I've already told you that I would let our son marry the woman of his choice, there is no need to keep asking."

"No, it's not that. But anyway, until he says otherwise his fiancée keeps her title."

"I suppose," he said, not having thought the question before, but agreeing with his wife's logic.

"Yes well, what's her name?" she asked bluntly.

"What?" he asked, finally opening his eyes fully, turning his body so he was facing her, her rubbing hand pulled back at his sudden movement.

"Her name? I've never heard it," she said and he caught a flash of confusion over her face.

"You've spent enough time with her, I would think…"

"What?" Bulma asked almost desperately, gripping the blankets by Vegeta's chest.

"I… I don't think I know her name either…" he said thoughtfully, a small smirk on his lips as if this amused him greatly. "We'll just have to ask her for it."

"Wha?" Bulma cried, almost slurred. She sat up in bed and glared down at her husband. "'Ah, gee Bulma, let's just go and ask the girl we've been almost official parents in law to and ask her her name. She won't mind and then we are stupid,' Bulma reeled off in a deep voice that was supposed to be reminiscent with Vegeta's voice but she was failing miserably.

He mock glared at her.

"Well, it's not like we'll ever have to know it. We're royalty my dear." Bulma huffed.

"If she's going to marry our son-"

"Now now. You're the one that pressed for him to be given a choice. Do you think he will choose her? He hardly knows her," Vegeta said calmly, enjoying teasing his wife about a point she had so vehemently fought for.

"You wanted him to marry her," she said, looking at the ceiling. She shrugged. "He likes to make you happy."

Vegeta snorted.

"If you're so sure he's going to pick her, then why did we even bother with all of this fighting?"

"Because I'm not sure. And… I just wanted him to have a choice. Even if that choice is obeying his Father's wishes," she said, turning to her side again, and draping her leg casually over her husband's.

"Because everybody should have a choice…" she said again, closing her eyes, content to sleep a bit more of the early morning haze away, as neither had gotten sufficient sleeping times.

She dozed off quickly; Vegeta did not.

* * *

"Pan, can I ask you a question?" Trunks asked, sitting on the bed, his knees tucked underneath him. She looked up from where she was picking up her discarded clothing and gave a vague interested look. 

She had already changed her clothes, and he found himself pausing to look at her, mentally appraising the outfit that his parents would see her in. Not for the first time he saw the huge differences between her and the girls he had grown up with. While he wouldn't doubt that Pan would look lovely in the fancy dresses of his home, there was a classic sort of comfortness in the simple ones she wore.

A shirt with long dark sleeves peeked from an over-dress without sleeves made of soft cotton. It bunched under her chest then fell to the floor. Trunks couldn't see it being comfortable, but it did look rather natural on Pan.

She had left her hair down after washing, a length of gray ribbon wrapped half hazardly in a crisscrossing motion along the side of her hair, which had curled at the tips from yesterday's humidity.

"Yes?" she broke the silence, bringing him to remember his question. He stood to make them on even grounds, albeit he was a head taller than her. He ran his fingers through his hair, lavender locks falling back into place. Her father's tunic was still around his chest, looking good for wear.

"What do you think of names?" he blurted, which was met with a raised eyebrow.

"_Your_ name?" she asked with a snicker. He shook his head impatiently.

"I mean… do you know there is a hermit island out to the East. All that have joined have remained nameless. Because when you give out your name, it gives the person a power over it. But when they do know their name, it makes the knower more responsible."

Pan stared at him.

"I was just wondering what you thought about that. The power of a name. Only… you haven't said my name since I kissed you."

"Since my fort-. Erm. No. I've said your name plenty. Look: Trunks, Trunks, Trunks. Happy?"

She was looking at him with a vividness and barely suppressed worry that made Trunks not let the discussion draw to a close.

"Not really," he said briefly. "Since your fortune. That's what you meant to say, right?" He looked steadily at her. "Oh, Pan. What did she say to you?"

Trunks remembered it well. It had intrigued him. At that point in time, while his mind was welling up the courage to walk over and kiss her, this was before he had seen a wide array of emotions from her. And Pan's face had been a tornado of them.

How the Teller had leaned over, strands of red hair falling from behind a handkerchief. Whispering into Pan's ear; the girl's face paling and blushing in a fantastic mixture. Pan's brief murmur of her unwanted betrothed's name. How her friend had shaken her head, and her meaningful glare had told Pan what she needed to know. Nooo, Pan had murmured out. Yeees. She hadn't wanted whatever it was. But seemed resigned to except it… and it wasn't Keipher.

What was it?

"What did she say to you to stop using my name? What made you stop? What made you turn from it? Not saying my name won't keep me here. Nothing will keep me here. Why, Pan?" he asked, intrigued, carefully measuring the tone of his voice and standing so that he was looking down at her and she was looking up.

"What did she say?" he said quietly, his breath coming in a raspy hush, the exhaled air brushing over her cheek. She swallowed and refused to look away from his eyes.

"She told me something that I didn't believe at the time," Pan said in quite the same breathy tones, lip twitching with grim satisfaction when her breath had the same shivery feeling as it tickled his cheek.

Trunks didn't blink.

"What did she say?"

"I can't tell you," she replied, eyes not wavering.

"Why not?"

"Because it came true," she said truthfully, and he looked away from her steady expression. He missed her sigh of relief at the broken connection.

"It's the reason you don't say my name though, right? Whatever you were trying to deny… you thought you could stop it by not saying it. Why?"

"It's just a name," she evaded.

"A name is the connection to a person."

"I know," she said levelly.

"Why didn't you want that connection with me? What did she say?" he asked for the umpteenth time. Her eyes flashed.

"I won't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I already said; it came true. Whether I refrained from your name or not."

"So you admit to keeping it. If it doesn't matter either way, why can't you tell me?" It was Pan's turn to break their look lock.

"I can't tell you right now."

"Well then. When?" he asked, folding his arms.

"After the Ball I suppose…" she trailed. " When we say good bye," she added, looking into his eyes briefly before turning on her heal and leaving the room, and leaving Trunks in a lonely yet anticipated mood.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Wait to go home.

* * *

I _believe_ the whole Fortune is in chapter ten, if Trunks' recollection was to vague for your memories. I know I wrote that over Christmas which was ages ago. I'm such a slow writer; wah. My apologies. 

Angel Eevee


	25. Sail Away

**A/N:** see end of chapter. See chapter one for disclaimer.

**Last Time:** Trunks realizes that Pan never says his name, Bulma and Vegeta realize they don't know Trunks' fiancée's name (and neither to we D), Trunks almost gets Pan to promise to give him a kiss, but fails, though he does get her to promise to tell what the Fortune Teller had told her the day they met

**"Sail Away"**

"I'm sure you could use the exercise," Pan whined out in exasperation, fiddling with the worn down fabric over her cut hand. She threw the prince a questioning look but said nothing else. He sighed dramatically.

"I'm only wondering because it will take much longer to get home if we walk," he said, teeth slightly tight, but not at a full clench. Pan rolled her eyes.

"Yes, but if you had been listening, you would have known that we aren't _going_ to be walking the whole way. It's not as if you'll ever get the chance to do this again."

"Do what?" he asked blankly. She threw her arms up and made an aggravated noise.

"How do you switch from the polite boy asking me for a kiss to this dunderhead?"

"How do _you_ switch from the polite… uh… well, more polite than you are now, who avoided a kiss to… whatever you are now."

"Your wit amazes me," Pan said dryly.

The two were standing outside, secluded down the road from her house. She had told her father that she had business in town. Goten had spilled that she had a way to keep their property and that Pan was just finalizing the arrangements at the palace.

Pan edgily had asked them not to expect her back for a few days.

Trunks had wanted to veer off and take a horse, but Pan had started heading in the other direction. He wasn't keen on walking back; his own trek to the farm was bad enough on foot. But on top of that, the new direction Pan was heading in wasn't even the main road leading to the castle.

It made him understandably concerned.

"For heavens sake," she said in final exasperation. "I am taking this route to the castle." She pointed at a path he hadn't been on. "If you want to make your way home on a different trail, be my guest. I just hope we meet up there." She finished, and spun on her heel. Her arms were rigid as she stormed away making it quite clear how annoyed she was at the entire situation.

Trunks wondered if she had eaten breakfast. Sometimes his mother would get testy when she hadn't eaten in a while. Or at certain times of the month. As a child, a guard had told him it had to do with the full moon, and he had spent months wondering if his mother had a lunar curse, because it surfaced every month.

Perhaps Pan suffered from this same waning illness. Not that he still thought it was caused by the phases of the moon. He had learned some things about girls in his late youth. Some things pleasant, and others… not quite so. But really, the only thing _to _know is that they are inconsistent, and if one was not, she was just lying in wait.

So really, this was Pan being her usual inconsistent self. Which was rather consistent. Which made him worry.

He folded his arms and started to follow her. There was no sense in taking his own way. He could get lost, or hurt. Or worse yet, _she_ could get lost or hurt. She had to be alive for him to cash into the counter curse. And he didn't really want her dead anyway. Best to stay near her, no matter what plan she had for them to get to the castle.

When he finally caught up to Pan, she had lost her edginess. He could tell as her arms were comfortably sitting at her sides instead of all up tight as they had been before.

He had been so concerned with looking at Pan and trying to follow her that he hadn't much noticed where they had walked to. Which explained why he was rather surprised that he knew the place they were walking along, yet that didn't stop his wondering about _what_ exactly she was doing.

"Okay, I understand that we are not going to ride horseback, and apparently aren't going to even walk the normal route. So pray tell what are we doing back here?" he asked, his voice calm and curious as he swept his hand to encompass their area; the flowered trees, high grass and calm waterfall by the pool. The wind was blowing blossoms from the trees all over the ground where they had shared their first dance.

Pan finally turned to face him. Her face was kind.

"Sorry. I just thought, I had meant to teach you to swim, remember? And we won't get a chance after this."

Trunks knew her logic but didn't agree. Well, he did, but he didn't want to. Yes, this probably would be the last chance she'd get to try and make him move like a frog in the water (which he wasn't anxious to attempt), but truthfully, he just didn't want to learn. He wanted to get home. He wanted to be visible.

Something of what he was thinking must have been playing on his face because Pan was chewing at her lip again, a calculating look on her face, if not a little saddened.

"Well, you don't have to," she said calmly. He turned his head, eyes scrunched.

"Don't have to what?"

"Swim," she supplied. She swivelled and pointed to the top of the waterfall. "Up there the water parts and the stream leads back to the capital, surely enough. It's a little meandering, but it does get there. And the current is faster than walking , so the distance is made up in speed. We have a boat there. You don't need to swim," she further explained.

Trunks looked up the waterfall. Actually he liked the thought she seemed to put into the arrangements. She would be showing him one final thing about the country side. One final thing about her world. Because while he used boats, certainly, he had a feeling that his and her idea of water transportation differed immensely. Anyone that would flap around willingly in the water trying to move was as single minded as the animals that actually did it.

He didn't feel the need to voice this to Pan however. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't swim. Absolutely not. Hadn't he made a fool of himself enough over the past days?

He locked eyes with Pan, wondering if he could communicate all he had been thinking about. She hemmed and turned.

"Either way we'll have to climb," she said deliberately, her voice stern, her fingers grazing on the rock by the waterfall. "You do know how to climb?" she asked. He made a face.

"Of course I do. I got up to your wooden tree landing yesterday, didn't I?"

Pan ignored his comment.

"Climbing a huge rock wall is quite different then a short sapling. You still think you can do it? I'm not trying to impose on your image. I just need to know if this is something you can succeed at on your first try."

Trunks let his gaze wander up the steep rock. His fingers brushed over it, revealing how rough and damp it was. There was light sand over most of it where erosion had taken its toll and no wind had swept away the remains. It wasn't extremely high up. It would be the same as if he were to climb one of the short towers at home. Ironically, he remembered doing that as a child. His mother had thrown a fit when he had fallen and the healer had spent days on his arm. Even now there was a thin scar along his elbow.

But that was years ago, and he was much more capable now. He nodded to himself then to Pan.

"Yes. I'll climb it." She nodded in approval.

"So climb," she said, gesturing to the rock. He looked at her, eyes shifting.

"Aren't you going first?" he asked, confused. She stared pointedly.

"I'm going to hike my skirts to my waist. I am not letting you climb below me." She said it with such a deadpan voice that Trunks couldn't bring himself to make any comeback but merely smiled a little.

"As you wish," he said, rubbing his hands together a bit before moving to tackle the wall he would be climbing.

It wasn't even as hard as he thought it would be. His slightly calloused fingers from sword training sought out the slight protrusions easily and soon he was able to climb with a certain amount of ease and speed. His feet kicked for hollows, and he always reached up for his next spot. He could barely hear Pan below him because of the water's gentle fall beside him. He'd cast quick glances behind him occasionally to make sure she was still climbing at least.

Soon enough his fingers met with a soft dirt, and pulling himself up, he hoisted himself onto a peninsula of rock jutting between the water. He stepped away from the edge so Pan could finish her climb. But Pan only leaned against the edge before stopping.

"Turn around," she ordered as she supported her body on the edge. Obediently, with a smirk, he pivoted around and waited to hear her scramble up to the sound of fabric rustling. He wasn't sure why she had a sudden concern about her leg privacy. He had seen her legs when she changed sometimes, and could tell very honestly that they were nothing to be ashamed of.

And surely if she were going swimming he would see more, but women were and would always be a little off, so he shrugged and stayed turned until he was given the okay to turn around again.

Their 'boat' as it were, was not far away at all, and had he known where to look he probably could have seen it when he had reached the top of Pan's little water fall. Protected and shielded by a brush of reeds, a sturdy wooden raft lay hidden. He wanted to call it a raft, because of its spaciousness and general… squareness, but the sides were upturned as a boat's. He decided that the clash of boat and raft could only be created by Pan and that such a thing should shock him little.

"Did you sleep well last night?" she asked suddenly, as she hopped onto the boat with a practiced ease that made Trunks somewhat envious, well aware that his own boarding would be less smooth. He answered her before he even thought of attempting it.

"Fine. Why?"

She shrugged. "I like to sleep on these things," she said, fiddling with strings and ties on the boat.

"You seem to sleep everywhere. Under trees, in trees, by ponds…"

Pan made a face but didn't answer.

"Aren't you worried you might drown?" he asked finally. She looked up from a rope knot to answer.

"No. See how the edges are curved? Water won't slosh up, and since the flow is so calm once you get away from the intersection here, there's really no danger."

"Someone could flip it over," he pointed out.

"No one wants me dead that bad. Why? Do you have that problem? Is that why you won't learn to swim."

"No," he said defensively. "I told you; royals don't have time. Or civility." Pan shook her head bemusedly and wormed the rope free.

"You going to hop on?" she asked, standing from her crouched position, the light wind blowing her long hair across her face, looking irritating, making him subconsciously want to scratch his own face.

But ignoring the urge, he cautiously reached a hand out to balance himself and made the hop-step onto the raft. It felt unsteady under his feet, but it was floating on water, and he decided that this was just the feeling of floating. He stood still for a moment, learning the sensation and placing it in his memory as he didn't think he'd have it again.

As the slight rocking began to fiddle with his stomach he hastily sat down and Pan joined him.

She was kneeling, her hands in her lap, hair now tucked behind her ears and smiling almost shyly at him.

"So, this is the last bit we'll spend together. And you did say you'd let me teach you to swim," she said cautiously, looking at her hands instead of his face. He was slightly taken aback by the gesture, because she had never seemed so hesitant in saying something to him. Well, not when it involved getting him to owe up to his word.

"Yes," he said simply.

"So you will?" she asked, looking up. He turned his gaze away and said nothing. But a smile was on her lips when she dropped the subject.

Pan plunked her bag in the corner, an accessory he didn't recall her taking and wondered how many times she had done that to him. He assumed it carried provisions of some sort and didn't pay it more heed (except to take a discreet sniff in its direction to see if there was any food for breakfast) once she took a long rod that had been laying on the boards and plunged it into the water.

With a strong shove she moved away from the shore the raft had been tied to. He looked up at her, for she was standing now, and while he trusted her on what she was doing, he didn't much trust the rockiness of the raft and his own steadiness. Standing up was out of the question so he merely brought his legs up and waited for her to get them out of the fast current leading to the waterfall.

She brought the rod up only to plunge it down just as quickly and drag them away from the fall. He could see her shoulder blades shifting with the stress of it but didn't know how to relieve her, and assumedly she had done this before so left her to it.

The prince turned his eyes to the fall, where, looking down, he could see Pan's farm estate clearly. There was the main house, which was no small size, followed by the adjoining kitchen that made delicious pies. Past the kitchens were the stables with the horses, outlined with trees with a meandering path driven in the forest which he knew led into town.

To the other side of the house was the fruit trees that Pan enjoyed to climb, and beyond that the row of barns, including the one he had slept in the first night. The water pond was amongst the forest that started at the stables and met up at the first barn. The main estate was laid out in a large circle, with the fields and additional buildings spreading behind them.

He had never seen her property from such a view, and it seemed much bigger when he got to see it in all of its entirety instead of looking at it from building to building.

He could see why she wanted to keep it so badly. It was a beautiful place. He could also see why his father wanted it so bad.

But he would be able to let Pan keep it. Even if he had to appeal to his mother to force his father into it. He knew that wives had a certain hold over their husbands. He wasn't sure what they did exactly to make the men do whatever they pleased, but for some reason each and every one of them would fall upon themselves when their wives started up… whatever they did.

He was almost nervous to get married and find out what they did. Ritual torture? Threat of poison? Imprisonment?

But then again it might be different. After all, surely not all women would pull the secret that makes men work for them. Certainly not every man would do it. He had a hard time picturing Pan's lovely fiancé following Pan's whim.

If only Trunks could marry someone like Pan. She didn't seem to ask for anything completely irrational. He would be able to live with someone like Pan.

By the time he turned his head away from Pan's farm, she had already brought them down the second stream path and away from the fall's currant.

The water was flowing much slower here, allowing Pan to bring the rod up and lay it across the raft. With a sigh she dropped down, jutting her legs the length of the boards and swung her arms to get the feeling back into them.

They sat in silence momentarily until she suddenly reached over and pulled her bag to her. He leant forward curiously. She pulled out a weighted down cloth and set to untying the bundle immediately. If he had any doubt as to what it was, the smell he had gotten surprisingly used to was filtering up from it. It was tantalizing, and more so because it would be the last one he ever had.

She pulled the cloth away to reveal a fresh, still warm, blueberry pie. He unconsciously swallowed and waited for Pan to bring a knife out and start cutting.

But she didn't.

She reached behind her and pulled two forks from her bag and passed one to Trunks, handle towards him. He took it cautiously and watched as she held her own fork, not making a move.

"Are we going to eat this, Pan?" he asked finally, hoping that she would affirm and he could go on his happy way eating. She looked up at him, her face still tilted down so that her eyes looked to be digging up in her lids. The angle blocked her mouth but he would have bet money it was smiling shyly. The way it always did when someone asked her a question that she saw as honest and cute, as she might say.

He tapped his fingers against his fork, a slight irritation taking over. If they took any longer the pie would start to loose its warmth. Whether she sensed that herself or the message was played on his face, he wasn't sure but she nodded, her sure-to-be-there smile deepening.

She set the pie between them and nudged it a bit to the prince in a silent communication that he could start. There was no additional movement on her part, which caused him to continue to stare at her while his attentions would have loved to be on the pie by his folded knees.

She smiled. Pulling fly-away hairs (that were only loose in her imagination) behind her ear she stuck her own fork into the soft layer of pastry and scooped.

Dark blue filling dripped, slight stem rose from inside of the pie. Pan hastily put her hand under the chunk of pie on her fork and leaned over the pan so none would drip on herself or their water raft.

She put the forkful to her mouth, conscious of the prince's eyes on her. She slipped the fork into her mouth and slowly turned it over and pulled it tantalizingly slow from her mouth.

"It's good," she said, after a moment of Trunks' staring. He shook his head slightly as if to shake himself from some sort of daze and stuck his fork into the other side of the pie, lifting it up.

"You want to eat this. Straight from the pan?" he asked. Pan shrugged. Trunks didn't wait for further invitation as he stuck the pie in his mouth and felt his mouth water around it. Sweet blueberries slipped down his throat and he was quick to stab his fork in and grab another mouthful.

The two sat peacefully, the current in the water so slow that the movement made the prince little sick though he was not used to water. The pie was tantalizing delicious, and he didn't care if he got sick eating it, because there was something almost forbidden about eating without proper servings taken out.

He had a mind to request full pies and a single fork more often.

He all but ignored Pan when, some time later, she set her own fork down in an empty spot on the pan and rolled back on her heels. She rubbed her stomach, whether in appreciation or from ache he didn't know, and didn't ask. Some common courtesy rule floated up from the back of the prince's mind; that one should not continue to eat in a lady's presence when she was finished.

But he glanced at Pan, and she was definitely patting her stomach in a satisfied, decidedly manly sort of way. He concluded that Pan wasn't lady like, so no rules would be broken as he continued to eat the pie though she had stopped.

Somehow the blue juice that dripped down his chin just didn't taste as good as when he had all but been having an official eating contest with the pie. As if each had been concerned the other would get more pie than them, and had seen it necessary to eat quickly, paying mind to how much the other was consuming.

Except now she was done with her fork. She was done eating. Some sort of competitive eating ritual had been stopped. But it had had some merits. He wondered briefly if Pan had lived in the castle when he was younger, if she could have gotten him to eat all the horrible green vegetables that were put onto his plate.

He had a strong suspicion that the cooks were out to get him, and if not by some poison slipped in his wine, it would be talkative service and food that was not so appealing to his taste buds. But surely that would have been different if she had been there. They could have pie every night, eating it as the way they do now. He cast his mind back. Did he eat anything other than pie at his visit?

He wasn't so sure. Well, of course he had eaten different things when they had been in town (bread, meats, pretzels…), but actually at her house…

He would have wondered if that was all she ever ate, but her slim waist answered it for him. As the taste of blueberries and sugar began to reach the end of its novelty, he decided he didn't much care about Pan's regular eating habits, and that as long as he could find pie somewhere at her house it didn't matter.

Not that he expected to return to her house…

Trunks found his mind returning in an endless loop. The part of him that wanted to stay with her, only because it was a new experience each day which brought a strong appeal. The company was tolerable most of the time, and even when it wasn't… well, most of the time it served for good entertainment.

But this wasn't his home, he reminded himself for what felt like the hundredth time. As soon as he was home, he would wonder how he could have ever wanted to stay away. People to talk to, decisions to make… a sense of dependency. People _needed_ him, unlike here where he was invisible to all in every sense of the word save for an obnoxious girl who force fed him pie all day.

Which made him awfully untrue to himself.

Pan didn't force feed him _all_ day.

One day when his body protested to the continual application of the fatty pies, he would look back and recall how Pan had shoved each piece down his throat, and perhaps this lie would make him feel better. Yes. It was the barbarian peasant that was the cause to his (if at all) gaining of weight. Everything was her fault.

It would be much easier to leave if he convinced himself she was nothing but trouble.

Yet, maybe that wasn't a lie.

The prince looked up from the pan, most of the pie gone, more so from his side than hers. He kept his face down turned, but his blue eyes rolled up, shielded by heavy lids and fallen bangs.

Pan was thankfully not looking his way, but had turned slightly, facing the direction in which they were headed, her legs bent and her elbows resting on her knees. Her face was in a mild scowl that she probably didn't realize she was making and he could see one of her fingers absently tapping out a rhythm on her cheek.

Trunks hated when his mind wandered irrationally from one thought to another. And from starting to think about getting the cooks to serve him pie in a pan with a fork, to the acknowledgement that Pan was a handful of trouble in every sense of the word, was definitely a quick irrational thought jump. These jumps made him feel absent minded and very much so distracted.

Which was really all Pan's fault.

Which was why he had to go back home and away from her. Maybe his rational mind would return as well as his once refined logical mind. Somehow he was in doubt.

His eyes locked on her left hand, still tightly held between wrapped blue cloth. It was relatively clean. There was caked on dirt from the climb up, but no thick layers of dirt were present or any soaked through blood.

As if sensing what he was looking at, Pan started from her dazed staring and turned her head to Trunks.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, out of curiosity, not irritation. The prince straightened up in his spot, his legs still folded, but forcing his back to go tall. He nodded towards her hand.

She followed his gaze quickly and slowly brought her hand from under her chin. She held it a bit from her face, turning the hand and inspecting the wrapped cloth.

"Don't you think you should let the air heal that?" he asked her, reaching over and nudging her hand. Pan made a face but nodded.

"It's probably about time," she said quietly after a pause. She studied the hand for a few moments more before shoving it abruptly his way.

Trunks stared at the flung hand inches from his chest. The fingers had curled in automatically, their decent from being straight impeded by the cloth. He didn't bother to make sure that it was what Pan wanted before he started untying the complicated knot on her hand.

His fingers moved quickly and efficiently. He didn't recall learning to undo knots before, so with that in account, he thought he had done a good job, giving the lack of experience he had. Pan was looking at him with exasperation.

As if you could do better, he thought wickedly towards her.

Whether she saw his sudden distaste or not, she didn't say anything. He unwound the last spin of fabric and drew his hands away. She didn't pull her hand back, but instead leant forward herself and examined the now naked hand resting in front of his chest.

The cut was slightly jagged, as if she had jerked her hand when the knife had first cut into her. It started near the beginning of her second finger and etched down to her fifth. It was almost directly in line with the main lifeline there.

He considered pointing this out to Pan, but stopped himself before he'd have to put his foot in his mouth. No point bringing up palm reading with what had she had learned yesterday.

He looked up at her, remembering the night before, when she had understandably been upset. There were reasons people had full rights to being upset when a friend died. To have it happen on an almost fated night seemed unbearable. Her eyes were down cast, still inspecting the work of her palm, so he could study her face at will.

Her skin was pale, but he had noticed that from the first day she had stomped into the castle. He remembered how curious he was about it. But she seemed a different type of pale. Less subtle then before. Her bottom lip was bruised and cut into slightly out of her habit to chew it when she was nervous. It looked sore to him, but he imagined it was one of those types that she didn't notice it enough to consciously stop scarping at it. Her cheek bones seemed to jut out more, and there was an odd bluish tinge settling below her eyes.

He would have said that she had been sleep deprived and emotionally torn for a good week, but the blue was from accumulating days not weeks, and he was sure that her cheekbones were just an exaggeration by the angle her face was inclined at.

One of the ribbons in her hair brushed across her collar bone, bringing her from her examination. She curled her fingers and brought her hand to her chest in a loose fist. She looked up at him, and her face fell back into the still slim, but non jutting, face that he was used to. He resisted the mild urge to trace her cheekbones to see how prominent they really were. His hands held tight in a grip on his knees.

"Thanks," she said, hesitantly, before her torn lip twitched upwards and she raised her hooded eyes to look him in the eye. "Even though you did stab me in the first place, you jerk."

He allowed himself to smile softly at her before jabbing back.

"You're the one that was holding the knife."

"And you insinuate it was my fault, how doth your memory fail," she all but quoted, looking up at the sky in fake righteous anger.

"Yes, it was my fault, mi'lady Denial."

And as quickly as the wind brushed by them, the thick almost unpleasant atmosphere that had soaked up their sailing was put to a stop. It had been awkward, as they each settled into their own thoughts while the water lapped at the intruding raft. Unlike the day before, when silence had fallen in the tree, this seemed to be a time of conversation. At least for the moment.

And the two young adults were more than willing to oblige.

* * *

And there we go. This chapter did take forever to get out, I realize. I battled something much worse than writer's block for it; I battled a lack of interest. Not in the story, just maybe Trunks/Pan as a whole. My interest has slid for the past few months, which makes writing very very hard. In no way or form will I ever leave this fic here unfinished. I am not that kind of writer. I'm not the kind that demand a set amount of reviews before I write more, and I'm not the kind that will leave this because I don't feel like writing it. It's 25 chapters of unresolved love and tension. It's the longest thing I have written to date, and I would be a quitter to leave it. There is no fear of that. What I do after this, I don't know. I do know, that it has been hard this summer to write this, and I appreciate all those that have been supportive despite the lack of updating. DragonBall GT has just hit my Canadian television, and I hope with such weekly influence, it will re-spark the interest in the couple I love so dearly. In short, my interest does dwindle, but I refuse to leave this be, and do hope to have it done before New Years if not before. Thanks to all of you. 

Angel Eevee


	26. King's Orders

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. I spent 90 minutes walking in three feet of snow and a freakish snow squall to buy my Pirates of the Caribbean DVD this morning, and spent the last seven hours watching the DVDs. Now if only Orlando could motivate me to write and not just look at his face, then I would be finished this by now. )

**Last Time:** Pan and Trunks do a little climbing, a little rafting, a little pie munching, and a little bickering

**"King's Orders"**

"Come in, your majesty," she called, eyes squinted towards him as water dripped into them. Trunks shook his head firmly.

Pan was neck deep in the clear water, most of her clothes were folded neatly on their wooden boat. She had pulled on a different thin layer of clothing for her water adventures, ones she must have packed ahead of time because she hadn't been wearing them when she decided to go for a swim.

Trunks had gotten used to her spontaneous nature a bit, but it had startled even him when she had jumped up from their comfortable conversation and announced that she was going to go swimming.

And she was treading water now, a bit a ways from the boat, breathing shortly at the energy it took to stay still in one spot.

"You promised you'd come with me," she called again. He shook his head with exaggeration so she would be able to pick up the gesture from her distance. "Yes you did." There was a long pause where they stared at each other, neither willing to give way.

"Then there's no point in me st-" But she never finished her thought. Trunks sat up in alarm as Pan's face contorted, easily seen even from his distance, in surprise and she went under the calm surface of the water Trunks watched the ripples from her submersion slowly circle out and break their circumference. He did not move.

No air bubbles surfaced. Still, he remained.

Pan plunged upwards, by the boat, gasping for breath.

"Coming out?" he asked casually. Pan's fingers grasped hold of the wooden edge and glared at him with as much effectiveness possible when one looked like a drowned rat.

"I almost drowned out there," she said, pointing behind her. "You wouldn't have saved me?" she asked. Trunks shrugged, their eyes locked in tenseness.

"You said these waters were safe, otherwise I wouldn't have to go in. You're a good swimmer, as far as I can tell, why would you go under in calm water? You were just pretending."

"You don't know that," Pan challenged.

"Then I would have apologized."

"I'd be dead!"

"My Father always said funerals were the perfect place to acknowledge past injustices," Trunks said thoughtfully. Pan pushed herself back onto the raft and rang her hair over the edge.

"You'd come to my funeral?" she asked.

"Yes," Trunk said with firmness. Pan smiled sadly. "They'd probably serve pie there," he began to muse, but was halted by the thwap she gave him to the head.

* * *

The king was pouring over some documents, his lips pulled in a scowl and his eyes narrowed. His father had really left some things in horrible shambles. It grieved him to a point to think that his father ever held the country under his rule. So many things needed to be addressed; to be re-written. Of course he had been king for nearly two decades, but many of the old laws were expiring and they were just coming to light. Why had his father made the laws have an end date? He was sure, the man was laughing. 

Set in such deep concentration over the arrangements of the farm allotments on the east boarder, he found that the sound of the heavy oak door opening jarred his nerves more than it normally would. He deepened his scowl and glared at the person who entered.

As usual, there was an attendant who meekly ushered the one he was presenting further in. Vegeta glanced outside the window. The sun was a good distance from the horizon. It was late enough in the morning to have visitors, but this didn't change Vegeta's scowl towards them.

He tossed his quill down with a sigh, straightening his posture and denying himself the pleasure of rubbing his temples, to avoid being seen with such a relaxed weakness. Instead he closed his eyes for a moment to will the dull throb in his head away and took a close look at who was interrupting him.

He sighed in recognition.

"Majesty," the man said calmly, sweeping himself into a bow. Vegeta barely acknowledged it.

"What is it?" he said dully. The man blinked and appeared to be slightly taken a back. Vegeta knew what he was there for. The man knew that Vegeta knew, so it caught him unawares. He swallowed.

"Your majesty expressed that he would sign a contract this morning…" he trailed.

"A marriage contract. I remember," he said dully. "But there are some inconsistencies with your claim, and I would like some viable proof to your engagement, so that I do not send some poor wench into your arms against her will."

The man, Keipher he vaguely recalled, looked more gob smacked than ever. He stuttered a bit before clearing his throat and fixing his posture.

"What kind of proof would his majesty like?" he asked quietly.

Vegeta opened his mouth to answer when another person burst in. He spared the new comer a glance and recalled to have frightened the wits out of her a few days ago in the hall. He smirked despite himself.

The girl glanced at the King to offer a quick curtsey in her out-of-breath state, and the glance held all the weariness of one who had been all but traumatized by the King's temper recently. She took a deep breath and spoke to the attendant that had shown Keipher in.

"I'm sorry, but this just arrived and no one knows who this is for, or what to do with it."

The attendant made a motion to not bother him in the King's presence, but Vegeta was finding the girl's breathy predicament more interesting that the dull man in front of him, so allowed his attention to stay on her instead.

The attendant glanced at the King before looking at the package the girl was holding.

"There's a name on that," he said as if the girl was stupid. She frowned.

"I know, but we don't know what to do with it. We don't know who she is," the girl replied with irritation .

The attendant looked at the writing, squinting from reading upside down and sounded out the reversed letters.

"Pan Son," he said slowly. Keipher whirled quickly and looked at the package. He too read from his short distance away and was able to see where the parcel was sent from. He grinned.

"Thank you," he murmured. "You requested proof, mi'lord. Well, as you may recall, Pan, my dear love, has sent her dress up in all her eagerness. Knowing that today, with your gracious consent, we will be wed."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow and looked at the box.

"That's a dress?" he asked calmly. The attendant lifted the lid, facing himself, so only he could peek in.

"Yes sir," he said with authority.

Vegeta lent back in his chair. The attendant looked on, Keipher shifted from foot to foot as the girl watched Keipher with interest at his outburst and situation.

"It's her wedding dress then?" the King asked finally. Keipher nodded eagerly. "So it is white?" he asked again, looking at a rough fingernail.

The king could have sworn he saw the blood drain from the man's face.

"Sir?"

"It stands to reason, with the upcoming Ball, that a lady might have sent her dress up to be held at the castle. Many do, do they not?" he asked, leaning to the side to see the girl on the other side of Keipher.

"Yes, mi'lord," she whispered. "We have many already. But this name is not on our lists…"

"She's not a Lady," Keipher muttered into his hands. He seemed to be thinking hard, and debating heavily, but when he looked back up to the King's eyes, he was quite determined.

"Majesty, the dress is not white, but I can assure you it is for our nuptials." A glance to the attendant confirmed the colour of the dress was not white. The king missed Keipher's breath of relief.

"Then you won't mind me asking what colour it is, if you know?" he asked. Keipher blink repeatedly, his jaw working uselessly. He looked at the box, which the attendant was keeping closed.

The girl looked between the three men and held back a giggle. The poor man just wanted to marry his sweetheart and the King and the stiff messenger thought they could trick him. What man would pay attention to his fiancée's wedding apparel? She knew that men didn't look at that kind of thing. It was a miracle he remembered it wasn't white, as most wedding dresses would be.

She smiled and waited to catch the husband-to-be's eye. When she had caught the desperate orbs, she mouthed two words, hoping he could lip read well enough.

He blinked at her long before turning towards the king, swallowing noisily and announcing quietly;

"Green and gold."

The King raised his eyebrows, the attendant nodded, and the girl grinned.

"Very well," Vegeta said with a sigh. Beside him he reached for the contract that had been placed there.

With one tidy scrawl, his name was added below his father's.

He handed the parchment to Keipher and waved him away.

He was sure him and his lover would be happy together.

Married.

Under the King's orders.

Keipher practically danced out of the king's presence. What luck! He held the contract tightly in his hand, his fingers gripping the paper for all of its worth. He had some how managed to get the King's permission. Once more, it wasn't just by some neglect on the ruler's fault.

It had been apparent that his majesty was testing him on the validity of the entire proposal. The arrival of the dress had been such opportune luck. Though he supposed it could have failed most miserably. But if the dress hadn't been there, he would have had to bring in Pan herself as proof, and he imagined he would have a hard time doing so.

Impossible time, really.

And then he had been such a quick thinker, he praised himself. On his toes on that one. He felt like patting himself on the back for proclaiming that the dress was not white, though he had never seen it before in his life. Wouldn't it have been grand if Pan had turned contradictory and worn white to a ball… which no doubt is what the dress was actually intended for.

Which meant that she would be coming to the castle to collect her dress. And there, away from the angry eyes of her father, he would be able to steal her away, and nothing could change that.

He had the King's permission. And because of the very binding nature of the contract, the King couldn't undo his own signature. He couldn't back out, and the Queen certainly didn't have the grounds or authority to change her husband's signature. And no one would have luck with the prince, because he hated Pan after their run in a few days ago which was the gossip of the town.

Short of lightning striking him, nothing would stop him from marrying Pan.

He grinned, which brought a slight pain to his head from the stretched jaw muscle. He rubbed his scalp lightly and frowned.

He hadn't been able to cure the bump on his head very well. It certainly wasn't throbbing as much as before, but really…

He decided the first thing he'd ask Pan when they were married (and she was under law to obey him as a husband) just who had struck him that day when he had kissed her. That person had quite a good swing really…

Not that it could have been a person, he berated himself. No one was in the room.

Obviously something had fallen, or the like. In any case, he would ask her. And make her feel guilty for causing him that pain. He knew Pan was reluctant, but he would be a good husband… he would make her wealthier than she was now, and happier… who wouldn't be happy with him?

There was nothing that he wouldn't offer her. Short of proclaiming her queen of all the country, Pan would be the most revered woman in the town. He would make it so everyone knew that she was his wife.

He smirked to himself. Yes. It wouldn't be long before Pan's resolve fell and she realized how easy it would be to love him and to give herself freely to him always.

He would woo Pan when the rings were securely on their fingers.

And if she turned out to be unapproachable… what did it matter? She was his forever. If he believed in any higher beings, he thought he might fall and thank them for persuading the King to allow his wishes to come true. As it was, he felt that a thank you was in order for the pretty girl that had so sneakily whispered the colours of the dress. Those secret words which had gained him access to the wonderful piece of signed paper in his hand.

He was grinning to a point where he wasn't even watching where he was walking, so certainly didn't see the woman he would have recognised as the prince's fiancée walking past him in a hurry.

Such was her haste that she did not acknowledge his presence either. Her loose robes trailed along the floor as she walked with whispering footsteps across the stone floor. Despite her layers of clothing, she was feeling chilled, her fingers clenching around themselves and nails digging into unscarred palms.

It had almost been like freedom these past few days. Freedom like she had known before falling into this whole mess. Before being tricked into giving up her name. Before being under contract.

But it was now, with the sun well into the sky that a guard had come to her door and politely passed on the message that she was wanted. She quickly began to create an obscene amount of excuses and reasoning for when the queen questioned her as she had for the past days. But it had struck her that the queen had never sent for her.

And the guard that had spoken to her was only used by one man.

He was back.

With a dry mouth she had left her room, the wanted spell clutched under some folds in her ensemble and swept to meet him. Best not to keep him waiting, as she knew nothing of the temperament he was in, and there was nothing worse then acting anything less than submissive when he was in his moods. Her darkened cheek attested to that plainly.

It was too soon for her liking that she came to the small door that marked the entranceway into his chambers. She swallowed the sand that seemed to be on her tongue and pushed the door open.

She had knocked one time, but he had reprimanded her because it was unfitting for a princess to knock on a councillor's door. He was an impossible man to please. She closed lids over light eyes and took a step in.

Cautiously opening her eyes she caught sight of him at his desk, shifting through some parchments. She cleared her throat delicately to announce her presence. He looked up.

He was still as unappealing as he had ever been, though he did look worse for wear with the dirt of travel and smell of weariness. She doubted he had bathed upon his return. But there was something beyond his usual hermit-like ways that made her look at him closely. What was it?

He stood and smiled in a way that was not unkind, though not meant as a greeting for her. Merely one from a man who seemed to have things going his way.

"I trust you have the spell?" he asked. She nodded, carefully allowing her face to show some level of annoyance, still unsure about his current mood.

"I had it done last time you asked as well. It's ready for the prince upon his return," she finished dully, once again reminded that she would be forcing fake love onto the royal which hypocritically threw out her reason for turning him invisible to everyone in the first place.

Love. She sighed.

"Yes. And he is to return shortly?"

"Today," she agreed. He nodded, writing something quick down on his desk. She carefully rearranged the bottled spell so that it would not fall. She tucked some stray hairs that had slipped in her haste to hurry down to his room. She didn't like it when he looked at her closely, which he did sometimes, as if considering her for more than the contract demanded of her.

With her hair in place, she found it easy to turn the tables and look at him closely. There was something different and it was irritating in the back of her head to not know what it was. She squinted.

Not something physical. Something… it was dirty. Something unclean and bitter. It tasted of dust and decay. It smelt odd. It was something she sensed, not saw. And it was something that she couldn't- oh. She blinked before taking an unconscious step back.

It was surrounding him as pure as day. She wondered how she could not have placed it for what it was when she first noticed the difference. She flinched at the feeling resonating from him, and couldn't hold back the tremble that slid up her spine.

"You've killed someone," she said in a small voice she hadn't meant to sound so young. He looked up sharply, almost curiously, before shrugging on a look of indifference.

"Not that it's any of your concern," he said smartly. She tore her eyes away from him.

"You took a life," she said again, almost to herself. She could tell, by the way he did not respond but turned back to his work that he made no excuses for himself. That if he wasn't proud of what he did, he certainly wasn't repenting of it.

The scratch of a hurried quill on paper made her force her cold feet to move towards the door and away from the horrid sense he was radiating off. Cold murder. It stung in the air like bitter wine. It was suffocating. She felt nauseous.

The air outside the room was as refreshing as ice water in the summer. She breathed deeply.

"He took a life," she murmured again, and tried to tell herself desperately that this was worse than taking a love. That the spell in her robes would not condemn her to the same putrescence that would forever mark his soul.

She wasn't very convincing.

* * *

"_I_ would have saved you," she said stubbornly. Trunks rolled his eyes. 

"Why are you still on about this?" he asked, legs outstretched, looking at Pan from shielded eyes. She was sitting with straight posture and frowning.

"Because if you were drowning, I would save you."

"That's because you know how to swim," he pointed out.

"No. Even if I didn't." She was sulking now. Her hair had dried and her clothes were back on her body, tied tightly and straight; ready for her appearance at the castle. Her efforts to persuade the prince into the water turned to be futile, despite her insistence that he had made a promise. She had finally given up and stubbornly held to the fact that he did not rescue her when she had needed apparent help.

"Maybe you would have. I guess that just makes you a foolhardy, selfless person than," he commented flippantly, a comment hidden underneath his meaning. She slackened her stance and looked at him surprised.

"Selfless? You're kidding, yes?" she asked, shielding her eyes also with the back of her hand. The prince unfolded his hands and looked at her questionably.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"I'd save you… but it would be selfish of _me_. I mean… nobody rescues someone because they are noble or have some virtuous courage. It's for themselves. Because they can't picture living on without that person. When people die, you don't cry for them… you cry for yourself. And the pain you're in because _you_ aren't with them anymore. It's all very selfish."

Trunks' eyebrows were both raised and he absentmindedly picked at some invisible dust on his clothes.

"I'm not sure if I agree with you… what about people that rescue complete strangers?"

"They don't want to live with the guilt of having done nothing."

"You'd rescue me because you'd feel too guilty to let me die?"

"I suppose," Pan answered cautiously.

"Still. I don't agree."

"Then why do people risk themselves like that?"

"I suspect it's because they love the person and they just don't want them to suffer. It has nothing to do with themselves."

Pan mimicked the prince, saying,

"What about people that rescue complete strangers?"

"Oh. Well… I guess maybe it's just human goodness or something."

Pan tilted her head and thought about his position. She couldn't say she agreed with him. People just naturally weren't that nice. If that were true, there wouldn't be people like Keipher or smelly councillors. People would be happy. She wouldn't have to be on a raft bringing a cursed prince to the castle so his father can steal her land. Good people did not do these things.

She remembered how Goten had always teased her about being too cynical for her on good, but she wasn't trying to find bad things in everything. Sometimes… she just couldn't put leaps of faith in things like people. Of all things.

Best not to waste good faith on things that are so unpredictable and irrational.

The prince seemed to take her momentary silence as surrender to his side. He seemed quite content with himself. Pan hated to break the serene smile that was on his face. It was small and subtle, but still, she had not seen such a natural peaceful expression on his face before.

She wanted to pull her eyes away from him, but couldn't bring herself to. She believed in love. With all her heart. But love at first sight was something she did not buy into. It was irrational, and she knew that love was irrational most of the time, but she just couldn't let her mind wrap around the concept. Even so, she had believed that real love would take years to develop and to realize.

She hadn't expected this.

At least she hadn't fallen for him at first glance, or she would be a rotten predicament with herself. But no, he had been a down right jerk to her, so no chance of love seeds there.

But that was a few days ago. And now, she-

No. She did not love him. She couldn't. She had known him for only a few days. And yes, he had saved her in some things, comforted her, kissed her…

She couldn't stop her fingers from reaching to her lips.

But she knew that she didn't hate him anymore. And she knew that when he asked for a kiss again, she would probably give it to him. And if he asked her to stay with him… well…

She did not love him. If she kept saying it to herself like a mantra it would never come true. She would never have to deal with some misplaced love for the prince of the country.

No. She did not love him. But she certainly liked him. And as shocking as an observation it had been before, Pan realized with a strong certainty, that some how he had managed to worm his way into a friendship with her, yet she found it lacking.

There was something in the way that when he looked at her directly, her heart would beat just a little faster. Or that what he expected from her was different than what anyone had ever expected from her.

Nothing.

Well, not that he had no expectations. Just… he wanted her to be herself. And that was such a quality that she could not help but notice. And it had caught her attention since the dress buying.

And she wanted to hug him, his broad arms wrapping around her and protecting her from the evils outside their embrace.

But she couldn't. She couldn't love him. Because he was going to leave her for the throne in a matter of hours. And she would go back home.

And no, she didn't love him, but somehow she knew it would be horrible to say good bye.

And even that she couldn't explain. How she had met this man literally days ago. Hours if you looked at the span of a lifetime. Why did he mean so much? They didn't even get along…

And it reminded her of her uncle. When Goten had sworn he was completely in love with the daughter of the miller a few farms over. They had been together constantly. She remembered how he would talk of wanting to be with her and for it to never end.

And Pan had asked, in a child's innocence, when they would get married. And Goten didn't have an answer. It was weeks later, when that love had worn out that he had explained it to her curious mind.

He had liked her. Loved her to a point. But it was a love that wasn't meant to be kept cooped up in his chest. One that he could hold and play with, but not one forever.

Even until now, Pan had never understood him. She had always believed that she would love one person totally and completely. Like her parents did. But now she could understand. She could relate that, yes, in fact… she probably did love the prince.

Love him to want to be with him, because he made her smile. Love him to want to make sure he's safe, as he did for her. Love him… because it is the way her heart declares it.

But it would not last. It would pass. She could tell. Because when she looked at him, she could picture a life without him again. If she were completely in love, she would not be able to. Right?

It saddened her a bit, to think that the feelings she held so much faith in could be so flippant with her.

But alas.

She broke the frown that had settled onto her face away and looked up to catch Trunks staring at her.

"You would rescue me," he said after a moment. She nodded.

"You care about me then?" he asked, and she couldn't help but wonder if that was nervousness in his voice.

"It will pass," she repeated to herself, softly.

Trunks took a discreet look to his side. Pan had been catching him looking at her lately, and he didn't want her to notice how many times she had caught him at it. He didn't know why he looked at her so frequently. Just lately… she had been getting such contemplative looks, that he _had_ to study and try to figure out. What was his young lady thinking of? It was impossible to tell sometimes, but he always liked to try.

And it was an unreadable face that was walking beside him as they ascended what seemed like and endless slop of stone stairs. He had expressed his displeasure of climbing the insufferable slabs of rock, but Pan had shown that they were what lead to his castle.

He was quick to point out that there was an easier way somehow, because he had certainly left his castle before and never had to climb.

She had politely informed him back that it was because he was more pampered than…

But what ever she was going to say to him was cut off. They looked to find a large iron gate obstructing their path. Trunks glanced at Pan who seemed to be looking at it with concern.

"What?" he whispered.

"Last time I came I had a pardon. I have no reason to be here this time."

"You're with me," he said. She shot him a look.

"You're invisible," she said smartly. Trunks clamped his mouth shut and looked around. Pan fidgeted uncontrollably, her eyes glued to the left, and when he glanced there he saw them watching a guard walking towards them.

"Ma'am," he spoke with a husk voice when he got close enough, "do you have business here?" he asked. Trunks bit his lip. Pan seemed to be taking her time in thinking of business, but finally swept her hand in a flourish and said she was here to see the princess-to-be.

Trunks raised his eyebrows and nudged her in the side. Why was she asking to see that girl? There was no way… oh. Asking for her probably was smart… Pan would be able to say her name, and she would know who she- heck, the girl could see him. She would let them in. Trunks grinned at Pan's quick thinking.

But the guard shook his head.

"She ain't informed me of you. No admittance without pardon. I'm sorry ma'am."

Pan looked like she wanted to stomp her foot, but instead tossed her hair irritably behind her shoulder and pointed a finger at the man.

"Now, she's my best friend, and if she finds that you've sent me away she will be very upset. And if she's upset, so will her fiancé. And do you really want the prince upset with you?"

The guard took the act civilly and deadpan. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry ma'am but-"

"Look, just send word to her that Pan Son is here. Can you do that? She'll let me in," she said with urgency. The guard shook his head, irritation settling in his features.

"I'm afraid that-"

"You will let her pass," came a voice from beyond them both. The guard spun around to see who had sneaked behind him and nearly fell over himself, sputtering out what he was saying.

Pan squeaked and bit her lip.

Trunks smiled.

He was home.

* * *

This scene will be continued, so no need to wonder who is letting them in. 

I am still resolved to finish this by New Year, or the end of my winter break at the very least. I just need to motivate myself to the fullest. I dug in my desk to find all my notes for this story, and plotted out the rest of the… well, plot. I'd guess there to be about five chapters left. Thanks for sticking with me, and especially those that reviewed last chapter. Some of them were the best I've ever had and truly were appreciated.

Angel Eevee


	27. Saying Goodbye

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. MERRY CHRISTMAS.

**Last Time: **Pan realises that though she does love Trunks, it won't last, so must forget it. Keipher gets signed permission to force Pan to marry him. And Trunks' fiancée has a love spell just waiting to be used, and after ages and ages, Pan and Trunks finally made it back to the castle, and are just about to be let in

**"Saying Good Bye"**

"You will let her pass," came a voice from beyond them both. The guard spun around to see who had sneaked behind him and nearly fell over himself, sputtering out what he was saying.

Pan squeaked and bit her lip.

Trunks smiled.

He was home.

Trunks watched the new comer as her eyes danced with amusement, looking at the blubbering guard, and playing curiosity towards Pan. He imagined were she to see him, that those eyes would light up, and he would find himself in an embarrassing embrace.

But she could not see him, and he had to refrain from greeting her. It surprised him, now, that he could see her, just how much he had missed her. He had never thought it would be hard to be away from her, and indeed, his heart hadn't ached for her while gone, but being back brought a surge of longing.

Perhaps it was just the familiar face, or the love that she had always given him. Perhaps it was simply missing his best friend.

He smiled at his mother.

Bulma made a motion for the guard to stop flailing, and he quickly set to fumbling with the keys to the gate. Through the bars she was eyeing Pan with a deep curiosity and somewhat urgency. There was slight irritation underlining it all, though Trunks didn't know what over.

Finally the guard pulled the gates open, eliminating the barrier between the queen and Pan.

Pan, for her part, bowed her head and mumbled a greeting of sorts. Bulma smiled softly and motioned her in. Trunks wondered at Pan's sudden meekness, and why hadn't she been so proper when she was around him? As if reading his thoughts she glanced at him and shot him a superior look. One that told him there was a balance of respects, where she respected his mother, but… well, hadn't him. Didn't. Doesn't. Whichever.

"So you are Pan Son," Bulma said after a moment, turning around, her dress a swish of fabric, and walking steadily backwards to talk to Pan face to face. Pan nodded quietly. Bulma returned the nod.

"I was told my son is with you?" she asked, the slight urgency in her voice touching Trunks.

"Yes. He, uh- well. Yes. He'll be here soon… I just need to talk to his fiancée, the princess-"

"That won't be necessary."

"Actually, it-"

"She was very secretive about what was happening to my son. I'd prefer not to have you conspire," the words were said with frankness, but Pan had recoiled as if they were a flat out accusation delivered with no tact.

"I beg your pardon?" Pan asked, still calm enough to be polite, but threatening to cross the line of politeness.

"You have my son, do you not? What is going…"

Trunks didn't hear the rest of what his mother was saying. As the three of them walked, his eyes had caught something. A room that he knew belonged to someone he needed to see.

Walking away quickly, he let the voices of the queen and Pan drift off.

He didn't bother to knock.

The door he stood before creaked quietly as he slowly pushed it open. He was not completely without manners; not wanting to catch the occupant unawares and in a potentially embarrassing moment, he proceeded with caution. Finally pushing the door open its final distance, he stepped into the room.

He was met with light eyes peering at him from a desk to the side. She stood up so quickly the object in her hand tipped over on the table with a clatter. She smiled brightly.

"Prince. You have returned," she said sweetly, gathering the skirts in her hands and walking over to him. Trunks closed the door hastily and gave the girl a cold stare.

"Not so much thanks to you," he replied. She took in his narrowed eyes and stopped her approach. "Can you even imagine what the penalty would be for casting that kind of spell on the prince?" he asked.

She frowned. "You've changed. I know you have. You don't remember how you were before. You were bossy and selfish… and maybe you still are, but you have other things too. You have a sense of… compassion that wasn't there before."

Trunks sulked.

"You don't know what I do or don't have."

"I do. I can see," she tapped her temple to emphasise her point. It was this gesture that drew his eyes to her face. He wondered why her eyes were tainted red… as if she had been crying hard.

"You can hate me all you want, I suppose, but… didn't you have a little fun? Don't you feel more complete? I'm sorry for doing that to you, I just _couldn't _be with someone who didn't understand love, and you didn't. Now… now I think you do."

"I'm not in love with her," he protested loudly. She smiled wearily.

"I never said you were. I just said you understood love. Well, as much as love _can_ be understood. I just… needed you to do this for me. I will not use magic on you again," she promised, hand tucked behind her back.

Trunks nodded slowly.

"I brought her back," he said uncertainly. His fiancée smiled genuinely and nodded; her blonde hair sliding from behind her shoulders. "Can you undo this then?" he asked, sweeping a hand in the mirror which was only showing one reflection at the moment. She smiled and walked the rest of the space between them.

She carefully placed her hands on his shoulders, manoeuvring him into a straight position. Her stomach was pressed to his, her fingers trailing down until they gripped his upper arms. Her cheek was smooshed to his shoulder blade, her eyes turned into his shoulder.

It would have been a tender embrace had he not been standing so rigidly, making no move to respond in kind. He left his hands dangling uselessly at his side, no matter how right it would have felt just to wrap them around her slender waist.

He was reminded of Pan, and when he had taught her to dance. Was it really so short ago? She had been horrible… but she had been easy to teach. And she was so warm, melded against him…

He was cold. A shiver was crawling up his back the pace of a caterpillar making him want to reach behind and shake it away. But she was holding him so tight, her mouth murmuring words that he did not understand.

And suddenly, it was like a gust of cold wind pushed him over. His breath caught and he had to consciously order his lungs to continue to inhale.

The pressure was released from his shoulders, and looking down he realized she had let go. He blinked at the girl now standing a comfortable distance from him again. He shook his shoulders distractively and glanced at the mirror.

Standing beside a grinning blonde girl was a young man. With lavender hair that was too long for his forehead, and black clothes that were not his, the beginnings of a light beard across his jaw line and a large smudge of dirt across his right cheek bone that Pan neglected to tell him about.

He found himself grinning at the messy excuse for a prince.

He was visible.

He was back.

"Why did you do that to me?" Trunks asked quietly, still looking at his reflection. His fiancée had the dignity to look abashed.

"You… you needed to learn love, prince. I knew no better way than to throw you into that… place…"

"I was gone for a matter of days. What makes you think I've learned anything?"

"Because," she said softly, "you are not demanding my death," she replied simply. Trunks turned to her, eyes finally torn away from his reflection. "Had it been like before, you would have," she said. Trunks blinked at her, not commenting.

This act of silence seemed to give her courage because she proceeded on.

"I only wanted you to learn friendship. How to give and take. The compromises sharing your life with someone brings. I knew Pan would condition your return and… I thought maybe it would help you understand… but. But you don't," she said, as if the realization had just hit her. Her fingers were knotting around a fold in her dress, hiding from the prince. He frowned.

"What don't I? I thought you said I did."

"No. You didn't learn friendship," she said, her eyes widening. "I had actually thought – no. You did. You skipped friendship. You are not friends with Pan are you?"

"No, I wouldn't say we are," he replied honestly. "I mean, we bicker all the time, and there are just so many things that-"

"You love her," she blurted out, her knuckles white against her dress.

"I most certainly do not."

"You do. Not unconditionally. But enough to… heavens," she muttered. She swallowed the lump that seemed to be wedged in her throat. "I didn't want… you _do_ love her," she said, shaking her head.

"No-" he protested.

"When you look at her, can you imagine saying goodbye?" she asked, eyes turned to the floor, with her long lashes noticeably blinking against her cheek.

Trunks didn't respond. He didn't need to. They both knew the answer any way.

* * *

Pan kept her lips set in a strained smile, her fingers ice cold around the steaming cup they were holding. It was one thing to be around Trunks, who was just like an obnoxious boy really, but to be around the Queen, the very head of the country. She tried swallowing sips of tea but it all tasted like sand. 

It really didn't help Pan that the Queen was judging her for all she was worth. It seemed like every time she lifted her eyes away from her tea saucer, the Queen was squinting at her, eyebrows narrowed and clear blue eyes searching for something written on Pan's face.

She couldn't believe that Trunks had abandoned her. How could he have done that? This was his house, his mother, his everything. And she had no business being there save it were to bring him back. Which was a great favour to him. Which she did. So the least he could do was to stay with her to make his hawk of a mother yield.

At the few glances she took of the Queen every sip or so, Pan was surprised by the look of her monarch. She had never seen the Queen before, and while she had heard many stories of the intelligence and grace of the woman, her face had always been a blur when relating stories.

Now that she had a picture of the Queen's appearance, she wondered if that face would ever blur back to nothing again. It struck Pan that the highness had the sort of face that was not forgotten quite so easily. Her face structure was more prominent than even Pan's, but despite this she was sure that the Queen's was more smooth and curved. Her nose was maybe a little too small for her eyes, but it levelled out her ears so nicely…

Pan wondered what Trunks would think if he knew she was melding a picture of his mother's face into her mind. She was about to take a look at the Queen's hands when she spoke up;

"So it seems my son is lost then?" she asked. Pan resisted the urge to put her cup down harshly. No matter how the Queen insinuated that she was hiding the prince somewhere, or that he wasn't here at all, all Pan could do was calmly tell her that Trunks _had_ come back with her, even if he did abandon her. The creep.

"Only in the castle," she said smartly. The Queen smiled slightly.

"He wasn't with you, though," she continued. Which had made Pan wonder how she knew that he was with her at all. How did the Queen know that her son was with her? How did the Queen know to look for Pan?

The only thing she could think of was that Trunks' fiancée had told her. But if that were the case than the Queen must know about the curse of invisibility. But what if she didn't?

Pan was analysing everything the Queen uttered to try and connect what she already knew, what she needed to know, and how to know which ones to be kept confidential. It didn't seem good that the Queen was doing much the same to Pan.

Pan bit her lip before forming another answer to the questions which were increasing in difficulty to answer without lying. Time was going so slow.

* * *

Time was going so fast. 

Bulma grinned and tapped her feet merrily on the ground. There was some sort of sick pleasure in watching the girl in front of her fret away. She had begun to drill the girl almost immediately about her son. There were no alarms going off in her mind, no warning signals. She knew her son was alright. That where he was, was an okay place. But it still interested her where he was at that moment.

She supposed even more interesting was the girl herself. Pan. This was the girl her son had spent the last few days with. She didn't think they were friends previously, so he must have run off on state business… except Vegeta hadn't known where he had gone.

Well, whatever business he left to see her, she was now here, so he was obviously back. But she wouldn't tell her where. Bulma asked again, fingering her tea cup along the rim, why her son wasn't with Pan.

The girl was clinging to her own tea cup as if her life relied on the action. Bulma didn't think it was out of fear of being with the Queen. She didn't think she would be shy or grovelling in front of her if she had spent so much time with Trunks. Surely she could have gotten used to conversing with royals.

But she hadn't. Or there was something else, because the girl was certainly not at ease. She wondered, if she looked outside, if the sun had set already. It seemed like everything was in fast motion except her. She couldn't get Pan to stop strangling her cup and tell her where her son was. Bulma's insides were fluttering like mad. She had half a mind to just shake the girl when she was surprised by a small voice.

It was mumbled and quiet and she hadn't made the sounds of noise form proper words. But still…

The Queen leaned forward, fingers on the table, cup aside, and turned her ear discreetly.

"What was that?" she asked kindly. She could hear Pan swallow. A moment later and the same quiet, this time more firm, voice whispered past her lips.

"He's with _her_," she said. Bulma pulled back when her mind connected the sounds into the sentence, her cup rattling slightly from knocking it in her withdraw from Pan.

"He's with who?" she asked again. Pan looked up at her and narrowed her eyes. For a wild moment Bulma thought that Pan would lunge at her. But the raven haired girl paused, and looking somewhat startled, set her tea cup down and looked around the room. Their eyes met again.

Bulma could feel her knees trembling.

Pan could feel her knees stop trembling. She had been so stupid, she marvelled. She let her gaze fall around the room again. What was she so nervous about? Yes, she was having tea with the Queen. And yes, she seemed to be darn intimidating at the same time. But that's not who was asking her questions. It was not the Queen that was asking where the prince was.

What had once been awkward for her was now suddenly so simple. Why hadn't she caught it before? There was no Queen across from her.

Just a mother.

A mother who desperately wanted to make sure her son had gotten home safely. To make sure he was safe, and then to throttle him no doubt. How many times had she seen that expression on her own mother? That urgent, overwhelmed, maddening look? One of such fierceness masked in such calmness… the whole expression was eerie. But there it was. On the royal herself.

Her face so pale, and her fingers almost melding with the grain of the table from clutching it so hard. Pan could almost see her trembling.

This was just a mother, a very important mother, but not a person that Pan needed to fear out of respect or from impending punishment.

She sighed with a smile.

"With her," she repeated. "His fiancée. I am sure of it," she said firmly. The Queen stared at her blankly for a moment before a definite sparkle took residence in her eye.

"Thank you," she whispered, and Pan had no doubts of its sincerity.

"Let's go find him then, shall we?" she asked, standing. Pan joined her standing accordingly.

"Come," she repeated. "And tell me what my son was doing with you."

Pan smiled slightly, and fell beside the Queen, as they began their search for Trunks.

* * *

"I don't want to say good bye," Trunks admitted, "but that does not mean I love her." His fiancée shook her head. 

"It doesn't matter what it means. Do I really have to convince you? I think you love her. You will anyway, if you don't dry out the beginnings of it. You have a start… you could end it but…"

"People don't fall in love in a matter of days! People don't even make friends in a matter of days!"

"Don't you get it? You have it! The seed of a love. And only you two can decide if you want it to grow."

"Why are you saying this? You don't want me to be with Pan. You're engaged to me," he pointed out.

"I sent you to learn love and you did. I'm responsible for this. Why can't you just admit that? Don't you know what love is?"

"Of course I do," he said sourly. She stared at him, her eyebrows raised. He had seen such a similar expression on Pan that he knew exactly what she was trying to convey in gestures. He frowned, and elaborated.

"Love… well. Love is… loving someone. Love is man and wife," he said. He felt disappointed to see her shake her head sadly.

"This is just so messed up," she whispered and pushed past him. She took

a morbid pleasure in the way her heels stomped angrily across the stone floor.

He was in love. She could see that now. She had known, but had tried so hard not to think about it, but there it was. And she had a love spell that would change all that. One move and he would fall in love with her. And it would be a fake, cheap love. If only he didn't love Pan… but then, he didn't even know what love was. There was at least something in that. If he couldn't even say what it was, it wouldn't be too hard to force a spelled one onto him.

Her hand was on the door knob before his voice spoke from the silence. It chilled her spine and caught her breath. His distant voice, hollow with memory, muffled from a back turned to her.

"Love is what keeps us living from day to day. We wake up and see Love beside us in the morning. It's what we essentially live for. Without Love, we only have money and land. And we can only look to those in the morning for so long… before it's shallow. Cold. Empty."

She had turned to him, her fingers still clutching the exit. He had slowly faced her in turn, looking almost dejected.

"See? And would Pan lie?" he asked.

"Pan told you all that?" she asked quietly. He nodded distantly.

"When we first met. She knows about love. And it kills her. Her family, her friends… her love for them is slowly killing her as they die. Love is pain. That's what I've learned. And when I look at Pan, maybe I can say good bye. Maybe I can never think about her again. But I know if I did let her stay, we would only get hurt. And if that means I love her, then so be it.

"But Pan knows more than I do, doesn't she? She's had fairy tales about love since she was a child. She cries over thunder-stormed murdered kittens for pity's sake. I think she knows more about love then anyone could ever hope to. So don't ask me if I love her. Because I don't know.

"Ask her," he finished. "Ask her."

He had marched quickly from the room, determined to have the last word, and wanting to get away from the thick atmosphere that had settled into the room. His bride stood motionless at the door, her knuckles white on the handle.

With a hitched sob she slid down the door and pooled in a heap on the floor.

She didn't want to force someone to love her. She just wanted Trunks to learn about love so he would have compassion. So that maybe with his help she could escape from under her own curse. With his help she could get her guarded Name back. And in return she would be a good wife, if the prince desired to keep her. It wouldn't matter; she would do whatever he wanted.

But now she couldn't even have that. She couldn't give Trunks what he wanted. She couldn't give Trunks the _choice_ of what he wanted. Because she needed him to be unconditioned. Because now she had to force a love spell on him.

Trunks had no choice.

Because he had already chosen Pan.

* * *

Trunks stormed through the hallways. He was confused and irritable. All he had wanted was to come home and go back to his every day life. Well, maybe not every day. He was going to think about this Pan issue, for it really was an issue, and how to get around being away from her. He thought he would miss her. They had become a workable duo over the past few days. She was funny to be with. She was _fun_ to be with. She… 

… didn't treat him like a prince. Was that it?

Trunks stopped in his tracks, occupying the middle of the hallway. Could it be the simple fact that Pan treated him like a normal human being; a friend, a commoner. It was so different. To be able to say whatever and not have things taken at face value. To not worry about gossip or people trying to use him. Why hadn't he thought of it? That must be what made Pan so special. Because she treated him differently. She treated him like Trunks, not the prince.

Even if she wouldn't say his name.

He continued to walk.

Maybe… maybe if he just stayed away from Pan, things would work out. Like a drunkard trying to get over his addiction, he could just avoid her and this new want to be with her, this need, would slowly ebb away.

That was what he would have to do.

Stay away from Pan.

He nodded in resolve, and raised his head from his contemplating stance. It felt like grim satisfaction to come to a conclusion but it was one that had to be reached. Just to never see Pan ag-

He smashed into someone around the corner and heard a distinct squeak as the person fell. He quickly regained his balance and made to tell the clumsy fool off, but his scolding died in his throat. His resolve slipped through his fingers.

"Hello Pan," he said dryly. She was glaring up at him from the floor, shaking her head. With as much dignity as possible she stood and proceeded to give him a proper glare which was interrupted by yet another woman throwing herself at him.

He was shocked and surprised to feel his mother's arms around him. His own arms were flailing at the side, making him look like a poor fish from water. He found himself awkwardly returning the embrace to his mother while Pan looked on wordlessly.

"I'm so glad you're back," he heard the murmur into his shoulder. And then she pulled away, her hands grasping painfully at his shoulder, shoving him arms length so she could get a good look at him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Just what did you think you were doing? Running off away from home? You didn't tell anyone, no one knew where you were, except your princess, who won't tell us anything by the way. I am so angry at you right now…" His mother was seething, and Trunks couldn't help but take an unconscious step away from her.

"Don't try to walk away from me, young man. If your friend here hadn't assured me of your safety, you would be in so much trouble." Trunks glanced over to the 'friend' Bulma had gestured to, seeing Pan watching the display, teeth between her lips in attempt to hold back a smile. He glared at her.

"Don't glare at me, sir," his mother was off again.

"Mother, I wasn't-"

"You just be glad your father isn't here right now. He wants your head. You can't just run off whenever you feel like it, Trunks. I just don't understand you…"

"It really wasn't my fault, mother," he explained.

"Well I don't see why it wasn't. You made the decision, and saw fit to tell no one but your fiancée. I just don't understand why you didn't tell us," she said with a sigh.

Trunks frowned. He didn't need this. He didn't need his _wonderful_ fiancée accusing him of loving Pan. He didn't need his mother accusing him of abandoning her. He didn't need Pan pretending not to laugh at the situation. He just wanted to be home. He set his jaw and turned to his mother, taking a step from her grasp.

"First of all, mother, I did not tell my _fiancée_, she was the one who made me leave home. She cast a spell on me. One of invisibility. Only Pan could see me, so I had to go find her and get her to bring me back home. Because she wouldn't break the spell unless Pan was here. And now she is, and the spell is broken."

"So you knew too?" Bulma turned to look at Pan.

"Mother, don't you understand what I'm saying? My fiancée put a _spell_ on me!"

"Is that so?" Trunks froze at the voice, and pivoted slowly on his heel to look at the owner of the voice. For the second time that day he heard Pan squeak at the appearance of royalty.

* * *

"Is that so?" he asked, budding into the conversation. He could see his son freeze and turn around to face him. There was a small noise of panic from the girl with him, who quickly bowed her head. 

"Father," his son said with a slight nod. Vegeta frowned.

"How dare you speak to your mother in such a tone?" he asked finally. Trunks looked smacked from his question, his jaw inching downwards. Vegeta fought a smirk. Of all things to comment on, it seemed he had picked the one that did not settle with his son.

"Didn't you hear what-" he began but was interrupted by Bulma stepping in front of him. Trunks looked oddly exasperated and Vegeta had to wonder how many times he had been interrupted that day by his outgoing mother.

"Vegeta, it's not his fault. Honestly, think of what he's been through." She was brushing his clothes as if to get the trials and tribulations her son had gone through off his shoulders. Vegeta fought the urge to roll his eyes in front of Bulma.

"She put a spell on you?" Bulma asked at last, looking into Trunks' eyes. This seemed to be the topic his son wanted most addressed because he gave an impatient nod.

"Well no point in marrying a witch," he said calmly. Trunks looked at him with wide eyes, clearly uncertain where things was going with this, and how calmly he had said it in. Vegeta felt a certain type of power in causing these surprised reactions from his son. Though Bulma was looking at him with raised eyebrows as well.

"Choose whomever you want," he said with a flippant gesture of his hand. He turned away, intent on having the last word in the argument and walked off towards the dining hall, knowing the queen would soon follow and commend him on making the right decision.

On letting their son marry whom he chose and for whatever reasons. And he was able to convey this to him without using the word 'love' once.

No need to give the boy a heart attack.

Bulma found herself smiling at her husband's retreating form and made a note to follow him after she had finished talking with her son. Trunks was still watching where his father had exited with a clueless sort of look in his eyes. Bulma tried not to be amused by the look.

"Father said I could…"

"Marry who you wish, yes," she finished. She wondered if she imagined Trunks' eyes glancing to Pan next to them.

"I don't understand."

"Well neither do I. You were under a spell?" she asked, getting back to the real question at hand. How could this have happened? She knew there was something off about that princess but… could she really have cast a spell?

"Yeah," he said sullenly.

"So," Bulma said, the gears in her head turning as she worked through what was being said. "You were the one who made it possible to break this spell?" Bulma asked. She was looking at Pan who seemed rather impressed or surprised. Bulma wasn't sure, but she was looking at the queen with a sort of scepticism. As if she doubted that Bulma believed a word of what was happening.

"You allowed the spell to be broken? By returning here with my son?" she asked again, bringing Pan out of her short daze.

"I suppose so," she said quietly, "ma'am," she added. Bulma waved it off.

"Then I believe we are indebted to you?" she asked, keeping things open questioned in case she got something wrong. Pan didn't answer for Trunks did it for her.

"We are. I mean, I am… well," he coughed slightly. "See, Pan… Son, is the daughter of the owner of the Son estate. One of the ones that father is going to claim hold of. Pan had already pleaded for her land, but… well father said-"

"You turned her away, didn't you?" Bulma asked, a smile spreading across her face as if the irony of everything had kicked in. Trunks had the decency to look abashed. "Turned her away and then found out you needed her to break a spell."

"Curse," Trunks corrected. Bulma was shaking her head in amusement.

"Alright, lets have it," she said, looking at Pan once again, her arms folded. "What did my son promise you to break the… curse?"

There was a faint blush on Pan's cheeks, and it seemed rather obvious that she didn't want to say what was promised to her. Bulma wondered if it was something embarrassing or if she just didn't want to make demands to the queen. She raised her eyebrows at Trunks who would give her a direct answer.

"Well," he began, "I offered her money. And ladyship. But that wasn't enough." Here he shot a glare over to Pan, who after a glance , was sticking her tongue out at Trunks. "So… well, I granted her… her farm," he mumbled. Bulma blinked and slowly unfolded her arms.

"I see," she said quietly. Her fingers felt cold. "So, you promised her something that your father has control over?"

"It's our land!" Pan suddenly exclaimed. Her sudden outburst caught Bulma off guard as she was expecting it from Trunks, not her. "It has been in my family for decades, and the only reason the king wants it is because he thinks it could bring in more money than it does. But it's _our_ land. Before he was even born it was ours. He can't keep it. Especially after the prince promised it returned," she finished, looking at Trunks with an apparent glare but what had to be a plea underneath it.

Trunks looked expectantly at his mother. Bulma sighed.

"It will be so," she said at last. "But I'm not taking the guilt for you, son. You'll have to convince your father of your actions when he discovers the news.

Trunks nodded with a grimace.

Bulma turned to Pan, her hands folded before her and a contemplative look spread over her face.

"Well Miss Son. It seems you have saved my son and been rather patient with a nutty queen's questions. You'll be staying of course? For a bit? So all of your rewards will be given to you."

It seemed that Pan was about to protest, but Bulma had already turned away from her.

"Give her a guest suite, won't you dear?" she asked of Trunks. She nodded without waiting for an answer and swept off to search for her husband. As soon as she was out of sight, Pan slumped and let out a huge breath.

"You're house is mad," she said quietly, staring at the floor as if it would give her strength. Trunks smiled wryly.

"Come on then, to your rooms," he murmured.

"I really can't stay, you know. My parents will worry about me." Trunks nodded.

"I'll send a messenger that you're staying at the capital to negotiate your deed. Alirght?"

"Alright," she said with a nod. "Thank you," she replied.

"Not at all," he murmured. He glanced down at her as they walked through the hallways. He could only see an obscured version of her face from the angle they were walking and the height distance. But the version he got was noticeable just the same. Her cheeks curved so smoothly, and he was beginning to wonder if they didn't dimple when she smiled.

Her face kept changing from subtle expression to subtle expression. She was fascinating to watch when she didn't know she was being watched.

He found himself surprised to see they had come to the guest suite he was going to give her. He stopped in front of the door indicating they were at their destination. She looked the door up and down before waiting for Trunks to speak.

"I'll have someone bring clothes and what not for you," he said quietly. Pan nodded. There was an awkward silence where neither of them said anything until she reached for the handle with her right hand.

"Okay, well, goodbye," she said softly and escaped into the room, shutting him out with a click. He stared at the silent door for a moment before letting out a shaky breath.

"But I can't say goodbye," he whispered before turning away.

* * *

Hum, I rather like this chapter. Which is odd, for me. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS, again. And thank you, to you reviewers - each and every one of you make me smile.

Angel Eevee


	28. Without Consent

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. My computer is away getting fixed. I loathe technology.

**Last Time:** The curse was lifted from Trunks, his fiancée is devastated to discover he loves Pan, Trunks isn't sure whether he loves her, though is beginning to think that he does. Pan is interrogated by Bulma, and Vegeta tells his son that he can marry whomever he chooses

**"Without Consent"**

It was late that night that Pan was sitting, rather numb and shocked on the large bed the guest room of the castle offered. It had been an odd day, contemplating back on it.

It had started with her father all but catching her in bed with a man. Had it not been for the fact that this man was cursed and lacking in visibility, she would have had quite the situation on her hands. Then there was the whole trip to the castle. Where the prince had refused to swim, though he promised. She scowled.

And of course her very uncomfortable interrogation with the Queen. It was bad enough that she had to speak to her alone, but under such circumstances…

She had heard much of the Queen before even arriving at the castle. She was well known for her innovation, fairness and proud rule. She was a very memorable queen, whom even the peasants had respect for. A true figurehead for the women.

It would have been an honour to meet her. An honour for the prince to, perhaps, officially introduce each other. But to be dragged into a room and glared at for information on her invisible son who chose at that moment to abandon her… it was horrible.

But now…

Now she was comfortable and cozy. Locked away in a large and rich room with assurances that her family had been informed of her whereabouts. In her hands was a thick piece of paper, a royal seal flashing across the top, and the tight script of the scribe running down the parchment. A letter of ownership, forever more of her farm. Never could the government try to take what her family owned in land again.

Tossed beside her were the documents deeming her the status of lady and a box filled neatly with the promised money. Pan all but ignored the latter two gifts, but could not help but finger the ownership deed in her hand.

This had been what everything had been all for. What she had suffered the prince's company for. Everything.

It felt heavy in her palms, as if it had been inscribed on lead instead of thinned wood. She head read the detailed notice at least a dozen times, but with the sun setting now and the only real light coming from a set of candle sticks, she couldn't satisfy her urge to read it again without squinting horribly. There was a lantern on the table across the room, but she found she was too tired even for that.

And no wonder, she thought. She hadn't slept the best with the prince around, and she had spent the days with him walking to town, dancing, riding to town, swimming… not exactly low energy activities.

She let her head fall to a pillow, closing her eyes. She tried to force herself not to sleep, but when she lifted her lids once again in a last effort, she was horrified to find the room bright, not with burnt out candles, but the mid morning sun shining through the window.

She groaned, realizing she had unconsciously slept the night away in her exhaustion.

She rolled over and tried to convince herself to get up and grace the castle with her presence. Surely they would have missed her… surely she should be up and about. But the bed _was_ soft, and the bed _was_ warm. And who would know if she just rolled over…

She rolled over once again, closing her eyes though not falling asleep, for certain this time, fingers still curled around her ownership deed. She never heard the door open or close lightly. She never heard someone tiptoeing over to the bed, or the hand placed over her mouth.

She shrieked but it was muffled.

"Eeh, I knew you'd do that. It's just me."

Pan rolled over at the removal of the hand and squinted up at the face of the prince. He was grinning slightly.

"I am in very close range of numerous pillows. What do you want?" she glared, discreetly making sure her clothes were covering everything that a boy the prince's age might find interesting. He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at his hands, as if they had suddenly become very note worthy.

"You weren't at dinner last night," he said suddenly, looking up. "I didn't think even _you_ had the nerve to sleep through dining with the King and Queen."

"I didn't mean to," she said surprised. And indeed she wouldn't have on purpose – he was right, she wouldn't have the nerve.

"Hmm. I told my parents you had taken ill." Pan shifted onto her shoulder to become more level with him.

"Thank you," was all she could think to say. Trunks squinted at her, as if trying to inspect a freckle on her face, and opened his mouth so say something when he was interrupted by a very light knock on the door.

He paused and glanced at the door way.

"What is it?" Pan called, ignoring Trunks' frantic head shake. She shrugged her shoulders at him in confusion, but the prince merely looked exasperated. The door opened and a pretty girl walked in, a narrow box in her arms.

She almost dropped the box when she looked up, stumbling to catch it.

"My prince… I didn't know- err. Well, that… in Ms Son's room…"

Pan made a small chocking sound, catching on to why Trunks perhaps did not want her to open the door immediately and let the knocker in. He sent her an ironic smirk.

There was an odd silence in the room while Trunks forced himself to be comfortable at being caught in Pan's room while she was still in bed, the servant waited to see if an explanation or a reprimand not to mention the scene to anyone would come, and Pan had the decency to look almost shameful at the whole situation.

Trunks broke the awkward quiet.

"Why are you here?" he asked with his usual class. The girl blinked before startling herself into the present.

"Ah, yes. Umm, it's merely a package for Ms Son," she explained. Trunks looked at the box before turning to Pan.

"Speaking of packages, and what is _in_ your package, I should tell you my father has called the Ball this afternoon. He announced it last night but _someone_ wasn't at dinner to hear it. Remember, you owe me a dance."

"You owe me a swim," she said saucily back to him. He threw her a grin before standing up and marching out of the room, not before giving a sweeping gesture to the servant, indicating that Pan's full attention was hers.

The girl shook her head and walked to a table to set down her burden.

"It is your dress, Miss," she said kindly, lifting the lid off the box and angling it for her to see from the bed. Pan smiled lightly.

"I see. Err, thank you," she said awkwardly. The servant smiled.

"You must be excited, Miss, if you don't mind me saying."

"Excited? I suppose I am. I'm glad everything worked out with the King," she said truthfully, fingering the deed to her farm.

"I imagine so. Though it was awfully tight for a moment, I was there," she said kindly. Pan felt compelled to smile back to her.

"Was the King so reluctant?" Pan asked, the details of the negotiations were never quite fully explained to her.

"I think he was just being careful. But your man argued for you."

"My… man?"

"Well… you know."

"Sorry," Pan said with a small laugh, climbing out of bed and walking over, "that's just a funny way of addressing him. I mean, don't let him hear you say that."

"I think he may humor it. You are very lucky, Ms Son, to be with someone who loves you so."

"Love? What? He doesn't love me," Pan said, eyes wide, voice gone slightly hoarse. Her fingers stopped their gentle outline of the green and gold dress and laid her full attention on the servant.

"Of course he loves you Ms Son. If he didn't prove it in the way he faced the King the way he did, he certainly does by the way he looks when he speaks of you. I apologize for being so forward, but when your name is said, his eyes light up so. It would be a perfect lie to say he didn't love you," she said with a smile.

Pan tried to wet her lips with her tongue but it had gone dry too. She couldn't believe what this girl was saying. That Trunks had fought tooth and nail for Pan. And that when she was brought up his eyes turned? It was impossible. Trunks didn't love her. Trunks_ couldn't _love her.

It wouldn't be fair.

The girl was grinning crookedly, as if she was just in on a big joke. She patted the dress once and folded her hands in front of her.

"I trust it suits you well," she said, gesturing to the dress. "I should warn you that most ladies take quite the hours to prepare for things like this. Shall I send for help?"

"Do you think I need it?" Pan asked, looking at the dress.

"You want to look perfect, Ms Son, do you not? It is such a special day."

It's just a Ball, she thought wearily, watching her skip from the room in search of help.

The servant was smiling, heading to the women's quarters. She found it funny, how he never said he loved her, or must not have by the way Ms Son reacted to it all. For some reason it looked like Ms Son was shocked at the realization.

That was rather sad. It had always looked to her that Keipher loved Ms Son the most and was the kind that would tell their loved ones all the time.

But to each his own…

As she hurried down the hall in search of maids to help Ms Son ready herself for the big day, she couldn't help but feel a tad bit of envy.

Because Keipher was so sweet, and to be married to him… well. Though it did seem odd how the prince was in her room talking with her. She wondered if they were perhaps friends, but had never before recalled seeing her at the castle. Was it possible that they were lovers?

She frowned to herself. Who to pick, if Ms Son had to choose between Keipher and the prince. She thought Ms Son must have been hard pressed to pass up the prince and all he offered, but then again, Keipher loved her and her only. There would be no country to run getting in the way.

Yes, love would always be the proper choice.

Thus she envied Pan, and her pending marriage.

She only wondered if the prince knew her choice…

* * *

"Is she feeling any better, dear?" 

Trunks stopped walking to allow his mother to catch up with him, her steps being careful and slow, so that he was rather impatient by the time she was by his side. Yet, dutifully, he took her arm and guided her through the hallway.

"Is whom feeling better, mother?" he asked. She threw him a look.

"Pan, of course. That _is_ who you were just visiting, were you not?"

"What gives you that impression?"

"What doesn't?" There was a silence that was neither comfortable nor awkward, where only the shuffle of his feet and the trail of her dress were heard. The Queen picked up the conversation where she ended it. "You can tell… you've become close with her…"

"I lived with her all day every day for a good couple of… well, days. I don't think I've ever been so suffocated by one person's presence. I can still smell her for goodness sakes."

"Hmm," she murmured. "So, tell me Trunks. What did you do in your days?"

"She showed me her life. The life of her class, rather. It's… different, I'll admit. Much more…"

"Breathable."

"Oh… yes. That's one way to put it."

"Yes. You'll find most life outside of these walls is that way. It takes a bit to adjust." Trunks turned his head and regarded her seriously.

"How did you leave it behind?"

"The outside? It's… easier if you have someone to do it for. I knew I was giving up my old lifestyle, but in exchange for your father. It seemed right that way. Don't worry dear, I'm sure that Pan can adjust as I did."

"I don't know. She seems very- wait! No. No, no no. I meant _me_. How was I going to readjust to this place. Why would Pan need to? She'll be going home soon enough."

"Once she's feeling better?"

"Right."

"Mmhmm. And why do you need to ship her home so soon? Oh." She stopped walking and grabbed Trunks' arm tightly, her fingers digging. "She has a lover at home?" she whispered. Trunks grinned.

"Of course not." If he didn't know better, he thought his mother looked disappointed. "Well, when I first met him, I thought her uncle was her 'male acquaintance'." Bulma giggled.

"I wonder how a thing like her is still unattached then, hmm?"

"What are you implying, Mother?"

"Just that she is a very well rounded girl."

"I… erm, wouldn't notice," he said, avoiding his mother's gaze as she looked up at his red face.

"I meant personality wise, not figure wise, dear. I mean, she has a very… diverse person. She-"

"I know, Mother. She's different. She's just got this huge issue about love, which is probably why no one can get near her affections. She wants the fairy tale, and that sort of things is really hard to… oh. Oh! I forgot! She _does_ have someone."

"How do you forget something like that?"

"You just do. Err, I do. Urgh. She doesn't love him, in fact she doesn't even like him. I might say she hated him. He's only after her because of some past contract with Pan's parents. It's complicated. But Mom, I promised I would see if I could do anything for her. I mean, in ways of marriage contract…"

"You seemed to have promised the world to this girl to get you safely back."

"I promised this promise as a friend," he said quietly. She raised her eyebrows at this but said nothing in regards to it.

"Your father did say he would hold to any promise you made her. I don't see it as being a problem, nullifying an old contract. You said it was with her parents? That means it probably wasn't even Vegeta that drew it up. It'll be a matter of signature to undo his father's. Don't fret, Trunks."

"I wasn't fretting."

"I know. But still, it is funny, the amount of things she needed to return you. She must not have thought very highly of you, as nothing about her strikes me as overly greedy."

"Yes, we really didn't get along in the beginning."

"And in the end?" she asked innocently.

"In the end I got back home."

"Yes. With a string of payments. Which is really why Pan is such a strange girl. Any others would have just asked for your hand."

Trunks made a noncommittal snort.

"Though perhaps she doesn't need to ask for it."

"What does that mean?" Trunks asked, narrowing his eyes at his mother. Bulma smiled sadly.

"Just that, perhaps, it is being given freely."

"I have _no_ idea what you are talking about, Mother. Not now, or ever, have I asked Pan for her hand. Why would I? She's just a peasant and I'm the prince. No one would understand. And she's far too annoying. She complains about everything, stops me from doing things I want to, laughs at me, and frankly just makes my life… what?"

Bulma was shaking her head at him, her sad smile still on her lips.

"You love her," she said suddenly.

"_Why_ does everyone keep saying that?"

"I'm sorry, it's just… Trunks, trust me on this. Sometimes you just _know_ when there is love. And-"

"No, mother. I have known her for half a dozen days. Love doesn't grow that fast."

"I loved you within minutes."

"That's different."

"Not by much."

"Why doesn't anyone listen when I say what she did to me those days. I hate her."

"Just as I hate your Father. Because he is a bully, and hurtful and too proud for his own good. But I can not picture things without him anymore. Trunks, can you picture things without Pan."

"Yes."

"… are they happy?"

"Quite."

She sighed.

"Trunks," she started, grabbing his arm. "It's okay to love her. I know you're scared. Because things didn't happen the logical way you wanted them to. It's okay. Just tell her, Trunks."

"Are you mad? She hits me just for _thinking_ of kissing her. I don't want to know what she would do if I confessed love."

"So you do love her then?"

It was Trunks' turn to sigh.

"I like her around me, despite what she does, she makes me laugh. She makes me think. She doesn't treat me like glass or like a spoiled god needing attention. She treats me human! And I don't want that person to go away, but I have no reason to make her stay. So I want to follow her, but I can't."

"Would you give up the crown to be with her?"

"… No. No, I couldn't."

"You could."

"I wouldn't."

"Ah. Then I suppose she will just have to stay here."

"She has no reason to, though. I couldn't make her-"

"Trunks, just tell her that-"

"No, Mother. She doesn't see me the same. I only like her because she makes me feel real. I don't do the same for her. I'm just another face in her life."

"Trunks-"

"No. She can't even say my name. She can't love me."

Bulma opened her mouth but was stopped by him.

"I have to get ready for the Ball. I must leave you here, Mother." He made a kissing gesture to her hand and stalked off. Bulma frowned and dropped her arms in exasperation.

"My son is a coward," she murmured to herself before going to search for her husband, mind reeling with thoughts. She would not let her son loose someone he loved. She hadn't expected him to find love (it was just too rare for royalty), but if he did, she would make darn well sure that he kept it.

Forever.

* * *

Hours later Trunks nodded briefly to the giggling group of girls that floated towards the ball room, his attention not on them but on the horizon of the hallway, eyes set on finding the girl he was intent on dancing with. He hadn't gotten sun burnt for nothing. In his gaze over a sea of dresses and ribbons he didn't notice the presence beside him until it spoke. 

"Aren't you going in at all?" the Queen asked by his side, a navy blue dress lightly setting off her hair colour. Trunks shook his head absent mindedly, not looking at his mother.

"I'm waiting for her," he said stubbornly. Bulma smiled wearily.

"Girls like to do this to the ones they like. She's teasing you, dear," she said warmly. Trunks finally tore his eyes from the crowd heading into the hallway and looked at his mother curiously.

"She's what?"

"Teasing you. She wants to make you wait." She shrugged. "It's a girl thing."

"It's a stupid thing. I'm the prince; she can't make me wait," he said stubbornly, determined not to cross his arms in annoyance. His mother smiled beside him.

"Royalty doesn't immune you to the power of us, dear," she said in a comforting tone, lightly patting his arm. "Just ask your father."

Trunks knew that his mother was being good natured to try and calm him. She no doubt sensed that he was becoming irritated and jumpy at the wait, as most mothers are able to tell in their children. She kept her arm securely on his shoulder, grounding him to the location, and allowed her own eyes to sweep the incoming crowd.

"I could go and fetch her, if you like?" she offered after a moment. Trunks frowned, eyes still scanning, hoping for a glimpse of that dark hair or golden green dress. But none came into sight, so with a sigh he nodded.

"You'd better," he said, defeated. She nodded and turned her head, hand still on his arm. He was still looking as she called the nearest servant over to her.

"I'd like you to go collect Ms Pan Son. Do you know where her chambers are?" Bulma asked the girl. Trunks paused to watch the conversation between his mother and the servant girl. Her arms were filled with flowers she was no doubt spreading around the Ball Room. The girl had a pleasant face, which was underlined with her smile she wore, and he immediately placed her as the girl that had delivered Pan's dress. She was nodding, but then stopped, and Trunks watched as a confused look crossed her face.

"You want me to collect her?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes," Trunks replied for his mother. She looked between both the royals, the flowers lowering in her hands, and stuttered her words slightly when she spoke.

"But, begging your pardon, Ms Son is not in her chambers…" she said quietly. Bulma tilted her head and Trunks just frowned. Why wouldn't Pan be in her chambers? Why wouldn't she be in her rooms, taking a long time getting dressed. She certainly wasn't here. Where else could she possibly be?

After voicing this, the girl sighed and subtly shifted between her feet.

"My Lord… she is where your father commanded her to be," she said quietly. "I mean," she said, catching the surliness of her reply. "Where he granted permission for her to be."

"What are you on about?" he asked crossly.

"Ms Pan and her fiancé. They are in love and the gracious King signed the papers so they could wed. Her parents weren't allowing it… but he got your father's signature. Her parents have to let her. The law has to let her. Sire… she's being married to her love," she replied.

He vaguely felt his mother's hand drop in shock, vaguely heard an intake of breath that he couldn't be sure whether it was hers or his.

"Pan isn't in love," he said, his mouth dry.

"But the Lord Keipher was-"

"Keipher!" he interrupted loudly, such that the few people walking past paused to stare. He could feel his mother's curious gaze on his face but ignored her, reaching out and grabbing the servant girl by the shoulders.

She gasped and let her flowers shower to the floor.

"My father married her to _Keipher_?" he demanded. She nodded weakly.

"He sighed the papers yesterday. But they are in love, my Lord."

"I assure you they are not," he said bitterly. "Do you know where they are?" he asked quickly. She nodded, frantically trying to ignore his tight grip.

"The church in the village. By the crossroads," she said breezily. He let her go in an instant, and she had to catch herself from not falling from the lack of his tight grip. Trunks was marching away from the Ball, his head pounding and the calls from his mother falling on deaf ears.

He had to stop this.

* * *

She had to stop this. 

Pan looked frantically around for something to grab; something to hit him with. But even if she saw something suitable for mulling someone, which she didn't, Keipher had such a tight grip on her arm she wouldn't be able to leap and grab at it. All she saw was row upon row of crimson coloured seats, high ceilings, and a signed document glaring at her with intensity.

"You have to stop this," she hissed between her teeth, though it fell upon no deaf ears. The officiator paused in his reading, and Keipher looked at her sharply from the side.

"I can not change the King's will," he said apologetically. Pan flinched and jerked towards him, causing Keipher to tighten his grip, pinching at the once comfortable fabric of her dress for the Ball.

"You marry me to a man without my consent," she said heavily, accusingly. She felt no sympathy for the man clutching the scriptures in his hands, thick knuckles jutting from his hands, and trembling softly. She felt not compassion, though he claimed that he was doing this against his consent as well.

Pan knew that the document Keipher had produced in the chapel had been from the King and that no one could deny its words. However, there was a difference in denying the existence of words and the obedience of the words. Pan had been given orders from the prince frequently, but she did not follow them. Why should this be different? She demanded this of the man, but he only frowned and placed a thumb on the page to keep his mark.

"I'm sorry, my lady. But the King orders it."

"Hang the King," Pan said with an attempted jerk away from Keipher. She could see Keipher's surprised look at her words from the corner of her eye, and hear the gasp from the clergy.

"You _know_ this isn't right! How can you be doing this?" she demanded, pulling against her captor with all her might, but his arms were locked securely under hers and she could not move.

There was no turn of minds in the room, and Pan could feel a chill run through her body. She was going to be put through this, willing or not. The only way to not get married would be to run, but she didn't seem to be able to do that either.

Pan's mind raced with ideas of how to escape, but she felt dull and slow. There was a pounding in her ears that sounded like her heart, and a strong burning rush behind her eyes that were forcing tears to gather.

This wasn't fair. This wasn't what she wanted. Why couldn't she think of a way out of it? Why couldn't she break free of his grasp? Why wasn't anyone coming to save-

"Stop!"

The doors at the back of the church swung open, the metal hinges moaning with rust and creaking as they smashed against the stone frame. The ceremony paused as the text was lowered and a comment made about him not being able to enter, eyebrows were raised, and Pan squirmed in her hold to see the face of the voice she recognized.

Trunks stood in the door way, hair disheveled, out of breath, and clothes wind stricken. If possible the grip holding her in place tightened as Keipher turned to look at the prince.

"My hero," he said mockingly, though not bravely enough to be heard by the prince. He glared down at Pan who was barely containing her glee and relief. "I suppose he makes the perfect prince Charming, doesn't he? Barging in all ruffed up to save the damsel in distress. He can't save you."

"I beg to differ," Trunks commented, now close enough to take part in the conversation. "Let her go."

"She is my bride," Keipher said with a blank voice, wisely not raising his impertinent voice to the prince.

"She is unwillingly," he replied, casting a quick glance to Pan to confirm her feelings on the matter. Her expression of horror and queasiness was enough to attest to her thoughts on the matter.

"I'm afraid it is law. The King signed the papers. Her willingness does not matter," he replied matter of fact voice. "Besides, she owes me. Her mother owes me. I deserve to have her. She is my payment, twenty years late."

Keipher jerked his head towards the other man in the room.

"Continue," he ordered quickly.

"Don't. You can not marry her to him when she so _obviously_ is opposed. What sort of God would condone that?" Trunks asked. The clergy shook his head, his eyes down cast.

"I am bound by the Lord, but I am bound by the King as well. I break no rules with my Master in binding them, for it is well in His eyes. So I must follow the King."

Trunks scowled and crossed his arms.

"I am the prince, heir to the throne, and future King. I demand that you release this girl," he said, voice hard, height imposing and a glare that was not of hatred but certainty.

"I'm afraid that your will does not over throw your father's," Keipher said slyly. Pan frowned.

"What are you talking about? He's the_ prince_. If he says not to marry, you better do as he says."

"Except," Keipher injected, talking to Pan as if she were a child of four, "if he's ordering against his father, who has higher authority. Higher written authority. No one can break this law. Not even the King himself."

"That's not true," Trunks spat out.

"Actually, I'm afraid it is." The company of four turned to see the new comer. Pan let out a sigh of exasperation, and couldn't help but think, even under her circumstances, that the members of the royal family had a terrible habit of walking in behind people's conversations. It took a moment for her words to sink in, causing Pan to look at Trunks with dismay.

The prince was looking at his mother with narrowed eyes, surely angry at the predicament and not at her. The Queen walked up the aisle, fingers grazing along the pews. The large oak doors were being closed by guards, and escorted carriage peeping from the outside road.

Bulma looked calmly at the four of them; Pan looking as wretched as her son surely felt, the keeper of the church at a loss and the man grasping Pan eyeing her critically. Suspiciously. And with reason.

"My son can not undo my husband's words," she repeated.

"And neither can you," Keipher spat, harshly, close enough to Pan's ear that she flinched and leaned away.

"No. I can not." She could feel as much as hear Pan's shaky intake of breath, and did not wait to continue, though it would have brought her pleasure to do so. "However," she announced, watching the smug smile on Keipher's face falter, "the King can."

"He can not undo his words," Keipher stated, eyes jumping, worried that what he knew to be true, perhaps, wasn't.

"You are right in that also. But he can contradict them. My son's orders may not be able to dissolve his father's, but my son's word is still good. And he had given his word to this lady to abolish your marriage contract a few days ago. And in turn, my husband has agreed to keep to everything his son promised her.

"You may have written law from yesterday to be married, but the prince proclaimed that she would not be married today, before your law was created. Your law was only agreed to because the terms between son and father had not been fulfilled as of the time. I'm afraid, sir, that the prince promised Pan her freedom. And the king has signed it."

Bulma produced with a flourish a document, signed boldly by the king, delicately by herself, and from earlier that afternoon, Trunks as well. Keipher snatched the document and read it quickly.

"There is nothing about marriage here," he spat.

"It is granting Pan the terms promised, as the prince testifies to. So. Trunks, did you promise Pan her material freedom?"

"I-… I promised I would do all I could," he stammered. "Yes. I promised," he added, just to be sure. Bulma turned to Pan and repeated the question. She hastily nodded her head, knowing she would have nodded even if Trunks _hadn't_ said he would try and break the contract. Bulma smiled.

"Then I see we are agreed. Children?" she gestured to Trunks and Pan.

Trunks wasted no time in grabbing Pan from Keipher and leading her away. Keipher was fuming and sprouting enough obscenities for the clergy to take a hold of him and attempt to march him out.

It was only when they were all in the safety of the carriage that Pan spoke up, gently rubbing the spot where Keipher had held so hard.

"Thank you," she said, and it was quiet. Bulma was unsure whether she was thanking herself or her son, but allowed it to be directed towards Trunks. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees to speak to her.

"Well, I thought I owed it to you, right? Don't you remember? You said you wanted to marry someone you didn't love, and then to have it be objected by-"

"You're so stupid, Trunks," Pan said shakily, folding her arms tight around herself as if she were cold, eyes avoiding his, but a small smile on her lips. Trunks sat back in surprise, and blinked evenly.

"What did you say?" he asked slowly. His mother was laughing gently and took pleasure in gleefully repeating it.

"She said you were stupid," she announced, heartened by the spirit of the girl her son had accidentally fallen in love with. She could see so much of herself in Pan, so much of a girl that would not sit in the side lines and would not bask in the title of royalty. But she paused when she saw Trunks was not reacting to the light insult, but rather staring at Pan waiting seemingly for her to repeat it herself.

She was surprised when Pan looked at her son fully, and let her speech be soft and firm, and there was no teasing in her voice.

"Trunks," she repeated, giving him the smallest of smiles, to which he returned the biggest.

* * *

Thank you to all those that _didn't_ send me threats this past month while my computer was out of commission (and still is). And you know what? Thank you to those that did. Some were rather creative, and none failed to make me smile. 

Angel Eevee


	29. Shattered Glass

**A/N:** See chapter one for disclaimer. I appreciate everyone who was patient, supportive and encouraging. Unfortunately, my computer and email were hacked into, resulting in much stress and the need to completely erase my hard drive. Which means all my Word files were deleted. I'm sure you can understand the delay.

**Last Time:** Pan gets all of the rewards Trunks promised her, she gets dragged away to be married, Bulma realizes that Trunks loves Pan, Trunks (but really Bulma) rescue Pan from Keipher, and Pan says Trunks' name.

"Shattered Glass"

She was surprised when Pan looked at her son fully, and let her speech be soft and firm, and there was no teasing in her voice.

"Trunks," she repeated, giving him the smallest of smiles, to which he returned the biggest.

Pan looked away quickly, her eyes downcast, and that same smile threatened to grow over her whole face. As if saying the prince's name had some secret meaning between the two of them. As if his name meant something more than just a name.

"Keep your secrets then," Bulma said with a sniff, though meant it in jest. She did not want to pry on the secret that had passed between her son and this Pan. For there _was_ something there. It just wasn't hers to know.

She watched for a moment as the two young adults in the carriage fidgeted helplessly. Pan seemed to be doing everything she could not to draw Trunks' attention, but all Trunks seemed to be doing was giving it. She wondered if they would be acting differently if she were not there. She contemplated getting out of the carriage to leave them to it, but there wouldn't be much of a way for her to get back to the castle herself, leaving this idea somewhat less than appealing.

Likewise she could suggest the two ride horseback up the castle to give them that alone talking time. But Pan wouldn't be capable of riding a horse in the mental state she most certainly was in, even if she had been wearing clothes that allowed it, which she wasn't.

She seemed to be forced to invade their privacy, though was rather reluctant to do so. She was thinking of way to convey this to them when Trunks interrupted her thoughts by breaking the silence.

"I just don't understand why Father signed that contract in the first place. Didn't any of it seem _remotely_ suspicious?" The look on Pan's face told she seconded Trunks' question. Bulma felt the need to defend her husband in this blatant mutiny.

"I'm sure he did find it suspicious, because he _did_ wait to sign the contract. It had too many complications, so he decided to wait until Miss Pan could come to the castle herself and confirm it."

"But he never confirmed it with me," Pan spoke up. Bulma blinked at her then sighed loudly.

"Ahh, yes well-"

"Wait a moment," Trunks interrupted again. "then you knew that Keipher was trying to get Pan?"

Bulma looked away slightly guilty.

"I told your father to wait until Pan got to the castle. But then with all the excitement of your return, Trunks, I just... forgot."

Pan watched the two expressionless.

"You forgot Pan would be married against her will."

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"Well, honestly, you were so shocked when _I_ forgot that Pan had another man in her life. Yes, a sick a delusional man, but a man none the less."

"Wait," Pan said, joining in, "How could you forget Keipher? You bashed him in the head with a frying pan!" Trunks raised his hands in self defense.

"I did not… it was a wooden bowl. Besides, it's not as if I could do anything about Keipher, I didn't know my father would sign that contract. I didn't even know Keipher _had_ that contract."

"Of course he had the contract, he wouldn't get me to marry him any other way."

"Well maybe if you had come to us sooner, you could have had your own contract signed saying-"

"You wouldn't even let me keep my land, what were the chances of letting me break a standing contract?"

Bulma watched the two of them raise voice at each other, opting to watch quietly as Pan had once done. The Queen was pleasantly surprised with the amount of spirit Pan was showing. Up until that point, she had been mostly quiet and reserved, with only a hint of a spark underneath all of her quiet murmurings. She wasn't sure if Pan had been suffering from castle nerves before, if it was simply that her son could provoke these kind of animated reactions.

She had considered stopping them, but decided not to, noticing the faint traces of grins on the two faces. They were bantering, not arguing, and the difference was phenomenal. Indeed, when Bulma actually started to pay attention to the words being tossed back and forth, she discovered that the subject had changed to some kind of berries and the discussion of pie.

Her son's counter argument about soggy pie in milk was disturbed by the halt of the carriage and the immediate opening of its door.

"Milord, Ladies," the guard said promptly, holding out a hand should it be necessary for Bulma. The queen took it and stepped out.

There was a pause while the guard peered in, and Bulma, finding she was not being followed glanced back into the carriage as well. Trunks had leaned over and was talking quickly to Pan, who in turn was shaking her head. Finally he shrugged and moved to step out.

Bulma waited patiently for her son to hop out before offering a hand for Pan. Pan seemed much better after the ride back. The church was not far from the castle, and the time to muddle things through her head had obviously done her good.

Trunks was still holding her hand to her arm as they walked up to the front gates. They opened with two stewards looking curiously at the three that walked past the open doors. Bulma walked with purpose the short distance to the main hall before stopping and turning to speak with her son and Pan.

They looked at her with a certain amount of expectancy, Trunks concealing annoyance, and Pan her weary.

"You can't go in," she said finally. "Look at you two," she was smiling when she said it, and it only deepened as she watched them look down at themselves, Pan looking stricken and Trunks appearing unconcerned. His hair was slipping from its once perfect style, his boots had a wide ring of dust on them, his clothes disheveled and the faint scent of stable on his clothes from riding a horse into town. Likewise, Pan's own dress had slight infirmities to it. The hem was chopped and torn a bit near the back, as if she had been digging her feet into the material whilst being dragged, which was a very likely scenario. Her hair, like Trunks', had slipped, and her face was smudged with dirt.

There was no way that the prince could walk into the Ball looking as he was, and leading the lady at his side looking the way she did. Bulma shook her head again in regret.

"Your father would throttle you," she stated, almost as fact.

"He may very well if we don't show up for the Ball he arranged for _me_," her son pointed out blatantly.

"I all but ran to get that contract from him. He knows where you were. I don't think he expects you to return, at least not for a while. Go and clean up. It won't take long. Both of you."

Trunks sighed the sigh of a defeated child and turned to escort Pan. She was still looking at the ruined hem of her dress, picked and paid for entirely by herself.

"Pan… there are plenty of dresses from my mother or another Lady. We will find something that suites you just as well," he said comfortingly. Bulma watched as Pan shook her head slowly, letting the clenched fabric between her fingers fall.

"That's all right. I don't feel much like dancing now anyway."

"Pan-"

"I don't care if I promised. I'll come to the next Ball," Pan said quickly, somewhat angry. "But right now…" she trailed off. Bulma smiled sadly. She had half a mind to whisk the girl off to bed with a cup of warm milk. No one should be dragged away from their home. Unwillingly. To be married unwillingly on top of that.

Trunks seemed oblivious to how the past hours circumstances could have affected Pan, for he began at once to disagree with her.

"Pan, you promised now that you would dance, remember? Remember the sunburn? Remember your dress?"

"Yes. My dress. That is now ruined thanks to Keipher and his mandatory wedding. And thanks to Keipher, I almost got _married_. I want to throw up, your highness, so I don't think that any amount of dancing and crowds of people are going to help that feeling go away."

"Honestly," Bulma cut in, tired of the whole situation, and desperate not to see them quarrel. "Trunks, she's in no fit state to be twirling around. I don't know why's she's even on her feet."

"What? But… he didn't hurt you did he?" Trunks asked with an almost childlike naivety.

"Not all wounds are on the outside, dear," Bulma said, taking Pan lightly by the arm, mindful of the pressure she put remembering the grip Keipher had held her in.

The queen didn't know where her son went, but she knew that he wasn't following them for the time being.

"Don't mind him," she said off handedly. "It's not a lack of consideration on his part, just understanding." Pan shook her head with a small smile, and the queen did not worry that Pan had misinterpreted Trunks' manners as being cruel.

They walked in slow silence, giving Bulma the opportunity to study Pan when she was not shaking with a teacup. Glancing discreetly out of the corner of her eye, she felt that she was getting a stronger sense of the girl than the impression she had the day before.

For someone who had almost been married, of all things, to a horrible man in her eyes, she seemed quite calm and collected. There was strain in her posture and face, yes, but down right hysterics might not have been out of place in such a situation. Her hair was pulled, what once would have been tightly back, but now had single flyaway hairs and loose pins, leaving her eyes and their surroundings open and wide. She was blinking long lashes over dark eyes repeatedly, making Bulma wonder if she were fighting tears or if she was perhaps just tired.

She noticed with a small smile that Pan swung her arms ever so slightly as she walked; a habit that would never stand at the castle. She vaguely remembered how to swing her arms as a child, before it became improper for a young lady to do so.

Her steps were faltered, Bulma could note, by the dress she was wearing. It was obvious she was not accustomed to wearing trailing gowns, and although she wore one with grace, there was a slight trip to her walk that merely made it trail harder on the floor. She felt the need to tell Pan not to march as much as to glide, but resisted the urge on account there were far more pressing matters to discuss than walking tactics.

Bulma's conversation with her son earlier had been mulling over in her head since it was first spoken. The conversation where she had confronted him about Pan, and confirmed her thoughts on his feelings towards her. She thought that he hid it rather well, in truth, but she was his mother, and was expected to notice such things. And she did notice. The way he glanced at Pan when she wasn't looking, the way they both spoke to one another. The absolute lack of respect their words held which made them all the more respectful despite it all.

But it would not do for her son to love someone who did not love him back. And she had to make sure. She had to _know_, not just from intuition. She tightened her grip momentarily so that Pan paused and glanced up at her. They had stopped only once they reached her room, and Bulma held Pan out at arm's length, frowning slightly.

Pan's expression was one of curiosity and perhaps a bit of weary. Bulma did not waste time with pleasantries.

"I need to know what you think of my son, Ms Pan. I have noticed the way you two interact with each other, and if I said that it was any different than the King and I, I would be quite the liar. I want you to tell me what your feelings are towards him, only that I know he has had his head turned by you, and it would not be fair to lead him on so."

Pan's usual wide eyes were even wider, lips parted in brief shock.

"Majesty?"

"Please, it's not an extraordinary request. I just… do not want my son to get hurt by you. If you do not share his affections, do not let him pretend you do. And if you do… love him, perhaps… I will not interfere, though I would encourage you to tell him. I've never seen him this anxious before," she commented flippantly.

Bulma studied Pan's face, hoping with hope that Pan would indeed return her son's love. Because from what she had seem, they would be very good for each other. But when Pan replied, it was quite the opposite about her love.

"He doesn't love me," she said with a sad smile. Bulma frowned. Pan shrugged at the Queen's expression and fidgeted with her wrist, twisting a bangle of silver around it.

"Why doesn't he love you?"

"What? Does he have to?" Pan asked, dropping her hand. "I'm quite sure he tolerates me only because I confuse him." Bulma laughed.

"I'm sure you do, but… As a mother, I know. And I asked him." There was a part of her that felt a flush of guilt in admitting her son's secret to Pan. But he had not expressed her silence in the matter, and he would never know that it was her that had done it, for Pan would surely be too stubborn to tell Trunks where she heard such rumors of love.

"Your son said he loved me?"

"In so many words. That's why I don't want him being mislead. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Pan said softly, eyes downcast. "I think I do." She turned briskly and clutched the handle to her door.

"Do you love him, Pan?"

There was a silence in the hallway that stretched longer than the hall itself. Where Bulma stood attentively, her knees protesting as she leaned forward, prepared to catch any answer Pan might murmur. Pan herself did not look to be ready for answering, as her back was straight with the forced need for the image of security – control. Only her fingers splaying and clutching at her side translated how high on emotions she was and anything but in control. Finally she turned the knob to her door and opened it shyly. She spoke to the wooden door when she replied.

"I feel the same for him, as he does for me," Pan said quietly, hardly a whisper, but seemed to take much of her energy to announce such things. She sniffed awkwardly before she fled into her room like a tear-driven child.

Bulma did not have the heart to follow after her, instead making to find her husband and tell him of all that had happened. In her haste to reach the King, she did not catch the muffled shouts from Pan's room. Bulma walked assuming that Pan needed to turn events over in her head, to try and sort out how she felt for Trunks on her own. Alone.

But she was assuming Pan _was_ alone in her room.

That assumption was wrong.

* * *

The room was cold. So very very cold.

But glancing down her arms were smooth and not freckled with goose flesh. It wasn't the room; it was her. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. She would not give herself the pleasure of it. Her insides were freezing up and she deserved it.

The chair she was posed upon was velvet over feathers, but it could just have well been rotted wood for all the comfort it was offering her. She supposed her mind was creating the icy feel of the room, or perhaps her heart. She knew instinctively that the bed chambers of the prince would not be so uncomfortable and held at such a ghastly temperature.

If it were any other time she would have walked in here and been relaxed by the shades of blues and grays, but her knees were shaking and she was biting her lip in a habit that was picked up far too easily.

She knew Trunks was back.

She had been ordered to watch for his return and she had. She knew that the Queen had sent him to fix himself up before marching to the ball. And she knew that she was ordered here to meet him.

She knew what she had to do.

There was a bottle of wine cooling on the table; one glass poured and ready. The prince loved white wine and would drink it up, especially with his nerves so on edge. She stared at the glass as if it contained poison, which in all regards it did.

She had been surprised how well the love spell mixed in with the wine. She had thought, considering its fiery texture that it would not have dissolved. She had brought a bottle of red just in case, but it did not matter in the end.

She would have to offer the prince a drink when he came in. Discreetly. Oh so discreetly. She mustn't get caught or he wouldn't drink it. And then he would know.

Her master would _know_ if Trunks hadn't been drugged by the spell. How would he not be able to, what with the prince's blatant love for Pan.

Which wasn't supposed to happen!

Trunks needed love, yes. But friendship would have done. A love spell could not work on someone who knows no love at all. And she hadn't been sure that was the case. So she had to… No. That was wrong. She hadn't known she was going to make a love spell. He had ordered it after she had sent him away.

She was lying to herself. She sent Trunks away to learn love, that was true. But why had she sent him to Pan? She knew Pan would change him. Knew that she would inspire something in the prince that would change all plans around. She had to have known he would fall in love with her. Did she pretend otherwise? Why was this love such a shock now?

She breathed in deeply, smelling the remnants of cinnamon and peppercorn; a somewhat unpleasant aroma not yet dispelled from the mixture. She wondered if he would be able to smell the spell like her, and not drink it.

He _had_ to drink it. What if he didn't? She could not go against her master so obviously. Bending the rules she could do, but breaking them? She didn't have the strength with all the hold she was under. Didn't have the courage.

She had to marry Trunks, and a love spell to cancel the love he had for Pan was the only way to do it. She would become Queen and be able to influence the King as much as her master needed. To be second to the throne, and through her, her master would see that all his whims and wills would be done.

Her master wanted to rule the kingdom. And he chose the most clever and secret way to do it.

She drew in a shaky breath as she heard the bedroom door open. The spell swirled invisible in the glass on the table. If she didn't make Trunks drink it, she would be dead by her master's hand. She would die by that mistake. But if she did make him drink it, she would have to live with that mistake.

Even as the door opened, she wasn't sure which was worse.

* * *

"You sneak from behind."

"Yes. I didn't want to part the dancing," the Queen murmured, taking a seat by her husband from behind his chair. He glanced over with his dark eyes and twitched his lips in a pleasant greeting.

"I trust things worked themselves out?"

"Some," she said with a light shrug. "Your signature freed Pan, if that's what you mean."

"Is that not what you asked for?" Vegeta was now fully turned to her, arm rested lazily on the throne, fist supporting his chin. Bulma wrinkled her lip.

"Yes, of course, I just mean not everything is resolved. How could it be? Our son is in love with a girl who is as cryptic as our son's fiancée. Who seems to be missing at the moment, and who has her own hidden secrets that I don't know about. She got that bruise from somewhere, but heavens should I know."

"Our son loves who? And what bruise?"

"Pan. It's very obvious, Vegeta, really. She said she feels the same way for him, but coming from her I don't know what that means exactly. Didn't you notice the mark on her cheek?"

"Pan's?"

"No," she said with exasperation. "On… well… Trunks' fiancée. I _need_ to find out her name. Remember that she knew where Trunks was, and she cast that spell on him, and… I just can't figure out what she's up to, other than rousing me up."

"Maybe that _is_ what she's trying to do. Confusion is a powerful ally."

"I don't see what she would gain from that. She was already engaged to the prince. She could have done far more in a position of permanent power. Her actions-"

"Clearly are not her own."

"I beg your pardon?"

Vegeta shifted further, his elbow sliding on the arm rest. His eyebrows were raised while he patiently explained his thoughts to his wife. He was slouched in an awkward manner, but he looked anything but undignified in his posture. Bulma blinked suddenly at his closeness, forcing herself to focus on the words Vegeta was saying.

"Her actions are questionable, even to someone who's motives would be. Which makes me wonder if her actions were not influenced by someone else."

"The bruise?"

"Hn," Vegeta murmured noncommittally.

"But who has motive for doing those things? Lying, sneaking, sending Trunks away cursed…"

"I rather got the impression that she did the cursing all on her own."

"Then perhaps that is where the bruise came from." The king sighed, leaning to the side of his throne.

"You know it has to be someone who wants to be able to control the throne, indirectly through her of course. But… I haven't noticed anyone missing from court. And she hasn't talked to anyone that I've seen. I don't know who her friends are. I don't think I'd even heard about her until you betrothed them."

"On counsel."

"Pardon?"

"I betrothed them on counsel," he murmured, slowly sitting up straight, sliding to the edge of the throne. "It was on advice from a member that coincidently has been missing for the past few gatherings."

"Vegeta?" she gazed up at him, half-alarmed at the angry look her husband had as he stood up. "Where are you going?" she called as he began to march to a side exit.

"To find Koslin," he growled to her, pushing his way out, leaving a baffled crowd of dancers in his wake.

* * *

She closed the door and leaned her forehead against the cool surface it offered her. She frowned into it, running her hand lightly through her pulled back hair. Pan was seriously beginning to loathe having to speak with the Queen. It seemed that every conversation revolved around her son, and she continually pestered her about her feelings towards him. And she knew her feelings well.

Did she love him? Yes. Yes she did. But it was impossible to love someone so soon and so quickly. Pan had to be reasonable about it. It simply wasn't feasible for her to love a man like the prince. What she felt when she looked at him, spoke to him and spent her time with him was love in its loveliest stage. The stage that could not last forever.

In due course, she would not love him anymore. At the moment, yes she loved him, but she knew that it was too soon to be anything but an infatuation. She had a passing love for the prince, and while it burned and ached now, she would not throw her life into a situation that would change soon enough.

Give it a week, a month, maybe a year or so, and she would forget Trunks and all she had loved about him. She couldn't possibly give her life away to a year of happiness. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. And the Queen was right – Trunks probably did love her. But he loved her the way she loved him, in a fleeting overwhelm of emotion. In a love that couldn't last.

She would not condemn them both. Her fingers clenched so her nails dug into her palms but she didn't care. She ignored the hitch in her breath as she turned her back to the door, thinking that if she could just make it to the bed, she could dream away her troubles. Her fingers had just reached around to the clasp of her dress, when a voice startled her.

"No need for a show, Miss Pan," the voice said. It was low but had a hidden squeak to it. A voice she had heard before.

She screamed when he stepped from the shadows but it died when his hand clamped over her mouth and her body slammed to the locked door. Pan held back a whimper, and gazed the room frantically.

The Queen had just left. Surely she would have heard the scream… surely she would come back to see what was the matter. But she was not coming back, and Koslin's harsh breath on her neck was reminding her more and more each second of what she was up against.

"What do you want?" she managed to wheeze out through her constrained throat. He seemed surprise by her calm and lack of hysterics.

"I _wanted_ for my plans to go smoothly, Miss Pan. But you wouldn't allow that, would you? I wanted the throne, but oh no, couldn't have that. Because of you. I tried to deal with you peacefully, Miss Pan. Even worked on that idiot Keipher to take you away safely, but you just couldn't be satisfied with that either, could you? I worked so hard to provide you a happy ending. Convincing him to go to the King, working the King to signature his proposal. But alas. Really my dear, you bring this upon yourself."

"Bring what, exactly?" Pan asked, forcing her voice steady.

"Oh," Koslin said, looking properly surprised by the question, as if the answer were obvious. "Your death, of course."

* * *

Trunks shoved his bedroom door open, already kicking off his boots and unfastening his front coat. He felt a mad urge to stretch so hard that he cracked his back with a delightful _pop_ and maybe throw in a wide yawn for good measure. He resisted though, at least until his stiff clothes were off. Such stretches were better while wearing merely your own skin.

He ran a hand through his hair batting away the lavender strands that hindered his vision. As his hand and hair fell away he stopped dead in his steps and stared at the side table. Someone was sitting obscurely in the shadows.

"Pan?" he asked uncertainly, seeing a trailing skirt in the candle light, but he was sure his Mother had taken her to her own room. Unless…

But the guest shifted the chair so the candles cast their light on her. He sighed, and warily walked to the table and sat down.

"It's you," he said calmly to his fiancée, who was looking at him like a sorrowful parent. "What are you doing here?"

"You stopped Pan's marriage," she said quietly.

"I did."

"You do love her," she continued, her sad expression deepening. Trunks fought a pitying look. She did not deserve pity for all she put him through, with her spells and meddling. But the emotion fell upon his face nonetheless as she fiddled calmly with a wine glass in front of her.

"Yes," he admitted, surprising himself, more than her. His jaw hung for a moment before he slapped it shut and swallowed loudly. His eyes burned and knees seemed to itch, and he was struck by the fear that she had bewitched this discomfort on him for admitting love. He swallowed again before looking at her.

She was smiling a little, her eyes down cast.

"I wish you didn't, but I suppose I brought this upon myself. Or yourself, I could say," she smiled wider, a false smile to try and laugh at her joke.

"You were the one that was dying for me to admit it."

"That doesn't mean I like it! Why? _Why_ did you fall in love with her? Don't you know how cruel this is!" she demanded, in a voice that chased away all other quiets. Trunks frowned deeply at her.

"How cruel _what_ is? How cruel making me invisible was? How cruel sending me from home was? What exactly is cruel?"

"Making me do this!" she yelled back, her voice breaking. He gestured his arms in a wide circle.

"Making you do what?" he asked in exasperation. They looked at each other, him waiting for a response, and she formulating one. Her chest was rising quickly with her breath and her eyes darted around the room. Suddenly she stopped her frantic look of panic and frowned. She shook her head, looking towards him.

"Nothing. No one is making me do anything. I won't do it," she said with a wavering voice, eyes darting to the bottle of wine. "I'm sorry," she murmured, standing up to go and making a grab for the poured wine glass.

The prince grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. The glass slipped and teetered but stopped steady on the table – still full.

"I don't understand you at all. You demand that I love but then are upset when I do. What is it that you want here?" he demanded.

"I want… I want freedom. I thought once I could find it in you, but I think now… I think now I must find it on my own. I'm not sorry for what I did, but am for the way I was. Be with your Pan, Trunks."

Trunks shook his head and sighed.

"I still don't understand you at all. What is going on? You're not making sense."

"You were never meant to know," she said quietly and rose once again. Trunks let her go this time, feeling a headache creeping on his mind. Rubbing his temples he reached for the glass of wine. He did not hear his fiancée halt at the door and spin around. He did not notice her dash back to the table, an odd terror on her face.

He could not miss when she drew back and struck the glass out of his hand. He choked a bit with startle, wiping the last drops of wine from his mouth with the back of his hand.

The glass lay shattered on the floor. Completely empty.

* * *

Obviously this is not the last chapter, as some thought with chapter 28. I'll say here, there is one more chapter (30) and then an epilogue, as far as I can tell. Wah, the end is in sight.

Angel Eevee


	30. You Should Go

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer. Stories are always _so_ hard to write when it gets to the end of them. This story was no different. The end is quite near though, thanks for reading this far.

Last Time: After rescuing Pan, Bulma sends her and Trunks to bed but someone waits for each of them. After confessing her returned feelings for Trunks, Pan meets an angered Koslin with intents to kill him, Vegeta puts together Koslin's involvement and looks for him, and Trunks drinks the love spell made by his fiancée.

"You Should Go"

"No. No. No," she whispered under her breath repeatedly. Her lower lip was caught under her teeth, as she stared at the empty smashed glass at her feet. Empty. No wine left at all.

He must have drunk the spell. The love spell she decided not to give him.

Her breaths were coming in ragged gasps, and she fought the urge to hop from foot to foot, not knowing what to do. Her spell would make him love the first person he saw, and then…

She whirled around and stared at the prince.

"Close your eyes!" she screeched. Startled, Trunks looked from the glass shards directly to her face.

"Why?" he asked. She whimpered and let her knees give way. Crumbled on the floor, with shards of glass digging into her palms, she stared at the prince's boots.

"If you look at me you'll love me. I forfeited my life for you, don't you understand? I gave in so you could have Pan, and now…"

She looked up at him; miserable. She fought the urge to sniffle, because it was not fair for her to carry on this way. It wasn't fair for her to be crying and distraught when it was he who had his free will to love taken away. His choice of who to give his heart to had been taken from him and answered by her. She had no right to cry.

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth," she whispered. "I meant to stop you. He asked me to make a love spell so you would chose me as your queen no matter what. I'm so sorry… I thought I was strong… once."

She got to her shaky feet but refused to lift her stare from the ground. She could feel him standing only a reach away. She fought off a shiver when he took away the steps between them and brought his wide hands to grip her shoulders. She thought his hands were shaking until she realized it was just her.

When his fingers tilted her chin up she finally allowed herself to meet his gaze. He was staring at her with an intensity and ferocity that made her feel ill, and she had to swallow back a threatening sob.

"I'll try though… to make you happy. I know I stole your choices, but I'll make him pay for all of this… oh. Perhaps that would work? You'll do whatever I want because you love me, so I can keep going against _his_ wishes until he gets so angry he kills me off. The spell might end in death. Maybe I could just…"

Her gaze to the jagged glass pieces on the floor was halted when he turned her face to his and joined their lips. He was slow and careful, and pulled back quickly to smile at her. Her blood felt like ice in her veins; freezing and cutting as it was pumped.

"Don't you dare say such things," he murmured. "As if I would condone suicide."

"You only think that because you love me now. If you knew what really-"

"I don't."

"Yes, you do think that."

"I mean I don't love you."

There was a pause so thick the orchestra from the ball room drifted to her ears. He was looking at her with an amount of pity and a sad smile on his lips.

"You have to love me," she whispered. He shrugged.

This was impossible, she reasoned. There was no logical way that he could not be affected by the spell. She had put it into the glass, and he had drunken it, and it had been perfect before the wine, she was sure, but- No.

She met his sad face straight on and felt like returning his kiss with a far more enthusiastic force.

"That spell was designed to make you fall in love with one person. But it couldn't work if that love had already been given to someone else. _Completely_ to someone else… Don't you understand? I thought that you loved Pan, but I didn't know you _loved _Pan.

"You love her in a forever and always kind of way. You love her in a first and foremost kind of way. You love - then why did you kiss me?" She cried taking a step back.

"To thank you," he said. "For trying to make amends. And to say good bye."

She grinned childishly and cupped his cheeks with a quick jump. Her hands slid down his face, leaving thin smears of blood from the cuts on her palms. She had never felt so elated. Her spell had not worked because the prince was far too in love with Pan. She wanted to dance on the spot. But what would her master say?

"I won't let him hurt you for this. Whoever 'he' is," the prince said, as if reading her thoughts.

"He put his own spell on me a few years ago. He is someone you know from your father's court," she hinted.

"A name would be nice."

She shook her head so her blonde curls fell over her shoulder.

"I can't give a name. Only, he was the one that introduced you to Pan."

"Koslin?!" he exclaimed, after a moment's thought. She grinned to answer him. "He was the one that made you make me invisible?" She scrunched her nose at his ill-worded question, but shook her head to explain.

"He was the one that suggested me to your father so that we could marry. Through me, and ergo, you, he would be able to get anything he wanted. I have to do his bidding, but I didn't want to be stuck with _you_ my whole life. You really were unbearable," she said with a small hint of a smile.

"Then you made me invisible on your own. To teach me to be more… bearable?"

"Well… yes. I picked Pan because you had been so mean to her before. I honestly didn't think that you would… but you did! I don't think you realize how impossible this all is. You broke my love spell because _your_ love was stronger."

"Perhaps your spell was just a bit off-"

"Don't tell me you still don't think you love her."

"Oh, I love Pan, I think. But surely not as powerfully as you say. I just met her. I think I love her, but-"

"Oh prince, don't you see? Love, real love, isn't about stars falling from heavens or grand rhyming speeches. Real love is subtle; so incredibly subtle you barely know it's there. It hides in a smile, in a gesture or a quiet word. You love Pan so much that you don't even know it. It's just there, and always will be. It is the only thing that could have stopped my spell."

Trunks could do little more than stare at such a statement. He shrugged with a silly grin on his face that became rather infectious. She was soon smiling and tugging at his arm impatiently.

"But how am I ever going to tell her?" he murmured, reaching for the wine bottle for a comfort drink. He eyed it critically, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's not drugged," she said when she caught onto his hesitation. He nodded, and took an undignified drink straight from the bottle. His face scrunched up at the rush of cold to his head.

"I think you will have little trouble wooing her. I doubt very much she does not return your feelings. You've said so yourself you think she does… like… you…" she trailed off, looking at her palm strangely.

Trunks set the bottle down and watched her.

"There's cloth over there," he said, pointing to the wash basin. "Only I don't feel like tearing more tunics for you girls who have a talent for bloodying their hands. See Pan did, a few days ago… our first kiss. Sort of. It was- what are you staring at?" he demanded, standing up.

She raised her eyes and looked at him fearfully.

"Do you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked uneasily.

"Mine was not the only blood meant to be spilled tonight," she whispered. There was something of a wild terror in her eyes as she grabbed Trunks' arm and pulled him towards the door.

"What are you doing?" cried Trunks.

"Finding Koslin," she answered, slamming the door behind them.

* * *

"You want to kill me," Pan stated, eyebrows raised, and putting on a face of slight amusement; a clever cover for the enthusiastic beat of her heart. She prayed Koslin could not hear it charging against her chest.

"I don't _want_ to, dear Pan, but you simply leave me no choice. As I said, I tried to offer you other ways for this to end."

"You tried to offer me Keipher. I'm not so sure it's much better," she replied good naturedly, edging away from the door, trying to put some furniture between herself and him.

Pan really didn't take to walking in her room and finding a creepy man in there intent on murdering her. She had had a horrible day as it was; what with almost marrying Keipher, and the prince constantly on her mind, she really did not need this.

Her mind was racing to create a plan, but none was coming forth. All she was doing now was stalling. Stalling for what, she did not know.

Stalling for Bulma to return, having forgotten to ask something. Stalling for a servant to offer her dinner. Stalling for Trunks to drag her outside and demand she go to the ball. Stalling for Keipher to barge in infuriated.

Stalling for something. _Anything_ really that could save her from where she was.

"I do hope you understand, Miss Pan. You delayed my plans for much too long, and if I thought there was a way I could let you live… I would. But there isn't. We can't have your charming prince rescuing you from anything else. Can't have him being distracted from his fiancée by a slip of a girl like you. Oh no no.

"You should have stayed on your little farm, my dear. This will perhaps teach you not to stray from where you belong. You don't fit in with such finery as this, little Pan. You are a peasant, and you will die a peasant, no matter what sort of dress you've disguised yourself in. I'm sorry you will end here and not in the familiarity of your own home. I did try to find you there. Gypsies are so helpful."

Pan paused in her edging around the bed and squinted at him through the dull light.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I apologized for going to kill you here and not at home," he said, offering a smile and following her jerky footsteps.

"You tried to find my home," Pan said quietly.

"Don't you listen well? Yes. I tried to find your home. As I said, the gypsy was so very-"

"What gypsy?" Pan asked dryly, swallowing frequently to try and get some sort of moisture on her tongue which felt like lead in her mouth.

"Ah, yes. I suppose you knew her, hmm? Nice smile, impossible hair, lots of colours…"

"You killed her," Pan said, her voice hard. And Pan remembered the feel of tears behind her eyes, and the horrible storm that stretched across the country, and the last words she had said to her friend.

Pan hated storms. Someone always died in the truly dire ones. And it was Koslin that had continued the tradition this year.

"You killed her," she repeated, as if perhaps he did not understand what he had done.

"Yes," he said, sounding quite pleased with himself. "And I am sorry, child, but you must follow." It seemed Koslin had become bored with talking to Pan, and began to follow her much more intently. The layers of robes did nothing to impede his walk, while her unfamiliar skirts were anything but a help. She stumbled slightly from the unaccustomed feel of the dress and the panic throbbing through her limbs.

She swallowed loudly, eyes shifting, and searched her mind for a way to stall the man. Nothing came to her, and it wasn't long before she had made an entire circle around the bed in attempt to distance herself from him.

He was following her with an odd pity on his face, though the cruelty in his eyes showed there would be no mercy for her.

"Why me?" she sputtered, now working her way back towards the door. He sighed, as if Pan were a petulant child and he was the father losing patience.

"Because the prince loves you, and we simply can not have that."

"Why, do you love him?" she retorted, making an ill jest.

"I admire your actions up until now, my dear, do not taint your image with such stupidity. I need my girl to be on the throne by his side. I need someone I can control as his wife, and you, girl, I think could be controlled by no one."

Pan fought a grin at that, despite the circumstances.

"He won't marry just anyone," Pan argued. "You can't make him marry this girl of yours."

"No. I can't. But she can. She's quite gifted with magic, as I'm sure you've seen. Why, if she can cast such an invisibility charm as she did, a love spell would require the mere snap of the fingers."

Pan stepped against the wall and began to creep along the edge of it; the wooden door only arms length away.

"You put a love spell on him?" she asked, pausing as this sunk in. A spell to make the prince fall in love with someone? Her mind reeled. She thought of the times he brushed her arm accidentally, the look he gave her when she wasn't looking, his quiet words… everything about him she loved, was all from a love spell?

"His fiancée is," Koslin explained. "As we speak. By the time he finds you, he will be too consumed by love for another to so much as take notice of your tragic death."

The texture of wood brushed her fingertips as she understood his words. Trunks was being put under a spell _now_, not before. This gave her little consolation. Koslin was steps away from her, and approaching fast now.

In desperation she lunged at the door handle and pulled with all of her strength. It flew open only to be slammed shut again by Koslin's thick hand. He threw himself against the door, so that her body was wedged between the two.

Pressed against her he tutted her actions. She felt his hand move from the handle and glide down the side of her face; brushing her hair. His other arm was securely blocking her in place.

He had won, Pan realized with a start. From her position there was no way she could escape from him now, and even Trunks could not rescue her. He was being drugged to not care at all. She would be dead, and he would be as good as.

Yes, Koslin had won.

She closed her eyes and turned her head at the stark realization of this. It wasn't fair at all. Things were not supposed to end up like this. Not when she had finally gotten her home back. Not when she had finally escaped Keipher. Not when she had finally fallen in love.

Not when she finally had her happy ending.

It was only the firm pressure against her throat that shocked Pan from her mind's wander. Her eyes flew open so she was face to face with a smelly grin.

His thumbs were placed at the small of her neck, pushing harder and harder inwards. She choked for breath, but little was able to pass through the constricting throat. She choked and spurted, but Koslin only chuckled at her.

His laugh was so mocking it infuriated Pan. She didn't care if she had no chance, if Trunks was to be torn from her. If she was meant to die, so be it, but Pan Son would not take dying like a lady, despite what her new title demanded.

Pan was ready to fight. She made a move to strike him, when a jolt behind her made her pause. The door shook and both glanced at it. Then, a call;

"Pan! Are you in there?"

Trunks.

* * *

There was a hollow silence that sifted up and down the halls, as Trunks stared at the door and waited for a reply. He glanced at his fiancée questionably before knocking again.

"Oh, Paaaan. I really need to talk to you. Could you open the door for a moment?"

"Are you mad?" the girl at his side cried, hitting his arm. "Don't you understand?! My master is in there to _kill_ Pan, this is no time for permission."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Trunks asked, exasperated, not quite comprehending what he was being told.

From the other side of the door there was a muffled struggle and a thump against the door, its hinges shifting. Trunks took a step back, confused.

"She needs help!" the girl cried, and it was as if Trunks finally understood the urgency of the situation. That this was not simple spells and rebels he was dealing with. They were murderers.

He took a step back then flung his shoulder to the door. It budged but did not open. He rubbed his arm hurriedly before trying again.

"Just wait, Pan!" he said, "I'm coming."

* * *

Not coming quick enough, Pan realized wildly. She made another strangled cry but the pounding on the door did not become any more successful. Trunks couldn't get the door open… he could not save her… she had to do this completely alone.

With a distracting gasp for air, she wrenched an arm from his hold and brought it back swiftly across Koslin's face. Her elbow caught his nose, making his grip loosen for a moment, and she brought up her knee and kicked with all of her might.

She succeeded in knocking him down, but his grip on the door fell with him, so that as soon as he tripped over his robes Trunks was able to shove the door open with little resistance. With no resistance in fact, and the force he in turn was shoving at the door made him stumble at the sudden lack.

He ran through the doorway with no hope of stopping his momentum, and ran straight into a heaving Pan, who lacked the breath to hold her own. Down went Koslin, down went Pan, and down went Trunks on top of them all.

In a crumpled heap of tangled limps, Koslin whined, Pan gasped for breath and Trunks blinked up at the ceiling.

"That was rather un-heroic," he muttered, making no attempt to stand until a flailing arm of Pan smacked his shoulder. He pulled himself to his knees, giving a hand to Pan, while his fiancée stood just inside the doorway; a hand placed strategically over her mouth to hide what was surely a smile.

"Are you alright, Pan?" he asked, gripping her shaking shoulders carefully, while she massaged her throat. She nodded between coughs and glared wearily at Koslin who was righting himself. At Pan's lack of injury he turned to her attacker.

"How dare you?" he gritted through his teeth. But Koslin was not watching Trunks.

"Stop him," he ordered the blonde in the doorway. She edged away slowly, shaking her head. "You have to," he gritted out to her. She glanced between Koslin and Trunks, wondering if there was a way to disobey him despite her servitude.

Koslin's shoulders were shaking with rage at her indecision, and his clenched fists were twitching to impact on something. And from the glance of his eye, it would be on the still recovering Pan.

Gritting her teeth and jaw, she pivoted on her heel and dashed from the room into the hallway. Trunks watched her go with anger, but it was Koslin who was most enraged. He was angry at his servant, angry that the prince was here, but most of all angry at Pan who had to ruin _everything_. There was no time left for clutching the life out of her, so he charged at her with a much sharper object than his fingers.

Trunks moved to jump in his way but was distracted by his name being called.

"Trunks!" from the doorway, where his fiancée stood panting for breath, and a fencing sword clutched to her chest. In one awkward motion she threw him the blade, which he caught as a result of childhood training.

He whirled, prepared to use the sword to strike at Koslin, but Koslin had stopped dead at the sight of the weapon. His face contorted to the point of agony, and he whirled on his servant to seethe at her.

"How dare you, Marron!" he shrieked.

It echoed in the deadening silence that followed.

Pan stood quietly, hand still at throat, flickering eyes from one person to the other, not entirely sure what was happening. Trunks was watching his fiancée, but clutched the sword ready in case the startled Koslin made a move. But Koslin was staring at his servant no more.

He blinked, stammered, and shook his head silently.

The prince's fiancée held the eye contact of her former master, her jaw slightly slacked, her breathing slowed, as if time had stilled for her and the ringing word that had just been yelled.

"What did you say?" she choked, a wide smile spreading across her pale features.

"I-I said noth-" Koslin began to stutter, but there was no front he could pull. He had said her name, the contract that bound her to him. She was letting out a wet sort of chuckle.

"Marron," she said quietly. "Marron is my name."

"Well, I'm glad someone knows it," was said from the doorway. All present turned their eyes to the open door, surprised, save for Pan who had become startling accustomed to the royal family arriving at the seemingly right moment.

The Queen, having just spoken, stood beside her husband, looking into the room, and glancing at the two girls and her son to make sure all was well. Vegeta, in turn, looked at none but his council member.

"Your majesty," Koslin began. And began was all he could manage. Looking wildly around at the drawn sword, Pan's red neck and Marron's elated expression, no lie to explain and contradict theirs could be created.

Trunks turned to Pan, now that his father was here and talking fiercely to Koslin. She looked stunned and slightly shocked, her fingers still rubbing at her neck.

"You're all right?" he asked again, resting a hand on her arm. She tore her eyes from the cowering Koslin to meet Trunks'. Her eyes danced over his face, searching for something as she had done repeatedly before, but it was this time she had seemed to find it. She squinted her eyes, and awkwardly blinked away the tears that were threatening to form. Before Trunks realized what she was doing she moved her own hands to grasp his arms and stood on tiptoe.

Their mouths almost met together, but Pan's hit the corner of his lips, making a rather lopsided kiss. She was quick to correct it, by which time the prince had come to the realization that Pan was engaging a kiss with him.

His arms only had time to clasp at her back when she pulled away. Her eyes went back to searching his and no amount of blinking could stopper the tears welling.

"Pan, what's wrong?" he whispered, body tensing with uncertainty.

"I'm sorry I never told you," she said, lowering her eyes to stare at his chin. "I should have told you, but I'm just so confused. And now…"

"Pan, _I'm_ confused." She swallowed bravely before raising her eyes to lock onto his. There were many things she would not have the courage to do, but Pan refused to deny Trunks the right to look her in the eye when she said it. When she finally said what she felt. She breathed in a shaky breath and thought her will and body might crumble beneath her.

"I love you, Trunks."

There was no silence in the room, as the royals fought against a whimpering Koslin, and a elated would-be-princess was happily ticking off her master's misdeeds. There was the distant music of the ball, the sound of the night air, and the guards now outside the bedroom.

No silence. But Trunks could hear nothing but Pan's racing heart and her quiet breathing.

"Well," he managed, "I think… I love you. As well." Trunks breathed in relief, that both had finally said it; that the fact was finally said between them. No more misconceptions, no more avoiding things. Pan had finally-

"What?" Pan asked, jerking back and looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"I said I love you," Trunks said, a small smile on his face, and taking the step back towards Pan. She was shaking her head at him and walking backwards.

"You can't love me. He," here she pointed a shaking finger towards Koslin, "said that you were under a love spell. You can't love me…"

"Oh! Is that all? Have no fear, Pan, it didn't work properly so…"

"So you don't love her?" Pan asked incredulously. Trunks shook his head. Pan's expression turned from confusion to disbelief in an instant. She backed from the prince's welcoming embrace, shaking her head and swallowing the tears that still waited to fall.

"Pan…"

"I think you should go," she whispered, hand shielding her expression, and glance cast downwards. Trunks frowned and felt the beginnings of anger begin to rise.

"Go? Pan, you just told me you loved me, how am I supposed to just-"

"A lot has happened since I said that," Pan hissed back at him, matching his harsh voice.

"You said it just now! Nothing has happened!"

"Ooh, yes it has. You said you weren't under a spell, and that is something," Pan muttered, taking steps to avoid the prince's eye.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Maybe I wouldn't have said what I had said if I had known," she stammered out. Their voices were getting louder and faster with every attack.

"You can't take back what you said," Trunks said with a glare, and Pan glared back. She stopped stepping away from him, and raised her head to give him a full stare.

"Oh, yes I can," she said stubbornly.

"You can't take back love," he reasoned. "That's not fair, Pan!"

"Why is it not fair, Trunks?!"

"Because I love you!"

And then there was silence. Pan stared at him through blurred eyes, her face twisted in a mix of despair and bewilderment. Trunks glanced over to his parents, now openly staring at him; Koslin between two guards watching with a mild interest at the prince's sudden proclamation.

"Course you don't shut up when _she_ says it," he muttered with sarcasm. Bulma took a hesitant step towards her son, but an arm from Vegeta halted her.

"I know," Pan whispered, catching Trunks' attention once again. He turned back to her; waiting. Waiting for the explanations that Pan would always come up with. Explanations that rarely ended in favour for him but always made such perfect _sense_ that he could do nothing to argue it.

"I didn't think you could," she began, looking only at him, and if she were truly aware of the others in the room she showed them no regard. "Love me, I mean, not really. But… I _hated _you. So much. And something… you know you changed… _I _changed. But that doesn't change anything."

Pan scrunched her face at her explanation, aware she wasn't coming across as she wanted to. She searched the ceiling for an answer before sighing heavily.

"It doesn't change anything for me, I mean. I said that I couldn't fall in love with you because… it's been days, Trunks," here she closed her eyes at his name, almost foreign on her tongue. "Days, not weeks, or months, but mere days. I doesn't matter what you feel, or what I feel right now, because in a couple more days, it will… change… again.

"And that's not fair, Trunks. I do love you… I do. But not forever. You're a fairy tale prince; you protect me, and rescue me, and love me. And I love you because you were what I wanted. Don't you remember? I wanted someone just like you. But it's not enough, Trunks, it's not. I can't love you for days, or months, or years, and that's all this is.

"This is… this is a change. It's new, and it's alive… but once it fades, I can't be trapped here, Trunks. Don't you understand? Once this tale ends… once the villains are locked away, and the spells are ended, so will this. And it's not fair to _us_, to pretend it won't."

Pan ended to silence, bravely keeping her gaze on Trunks'. He was staring steadily back at her, no words coming to his mind. Indeed, it looked as if neither would speak again, until a voice interrupted the heavy silence of the room.

"Let me understand," Vegeta interrupted, looking at Pan. "My son, the _prince_, all but _proposes_ to you, and you turn him down because you think this in one of his common whims? That's about it, isn't it?" He looked at his wife for confirmation who was glaring at him. Vegeta turned back to Pan with a bewildered look on his face. "Who _are_ you?" he asked, the beginnings of content growing on his face.

"Vegeta," his wife hissed.

"No, listen, that girl just denied a prince with the best common sense I've seen in ages. I want to talk with her. I'll just-"

Before he could finish, Bulma had angrily grabbed his arm and dragged him from the room, much to his loud protests. All guards followed after, and Marron slipped out with the crowd, leaving Trunks and Pan alone though they didn't truly notice.

It was a stand off of stares, of pleas and of confusion. Trunks searched in Pan's face for something that would contradict what she had said. This was not a passing love; it couldn't be. It didn't feel like a passing weight in his chest, nor a passing weakness at his knees. He just didn't know how to make her understand…

"I don't believe you," he settled on saying. "You can't say you love me and then all but deny it."

"I'm not denying it. I'm just… not going to be hurt later for a passing romance."

"There is nothing passing about this," he said, repeating his own thoughts.

"How can you know? You've never been in love," Pan reasoned.

"Which is how I know!"

"That doesn't even make sense," Pan replied sadly.

"Neither do you. I know you love me, and I know you know this is real. Go on, Pan. Look me in the eye and honestly tell me that this will end. Honestly tell me and I will let it. I'll let it go, Pan. Because you can't, and-"

"It ends, Trunks," she said, her voice not wavering no matter how he willed it to. She gazed him in the eye and sadly smiled. "You have to go," she whispered.

He opened his mouth to reply but found that nothing would come out. His jaw hung uselessly for a moment, his eyes roaming hers for the barest trace of a lie.

This was not happening.

But Pan remained unmoved, her cheeks drying, the saddest smile gracing her beautiful face, and Trunks wanted to crumble at her feet and beg her to just let things go on. Beg her to let things take course, because never had the prince felt so sure about something before as he did now.

Never with such a burning ache did he know that he did not want to be without the girl before him. And something so strong could not be such a fleeting love. He closed his eyes briefly and gulped the dryness of his throat away.

There was nothing to do.

With a shaking hand he grasped Pan's left hand and pulled it towards himself. His fingers brushed the faint scar on the underside of her palm, and lips brushed the top.

"My lady," he breathed out, letting her hand drop to her side, and slowly turned and walked from the room, as he had promised.

He would let it go. He would let her go.

But nothing would make the weight in his chest go, and he had to pretend he did not hear Pan's tears as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

She stood along the edge of the gardens, where the night's cool air could brush through her hair and she could breathe in the very sense of freedom.

Free from Koslin, free from the prince, free from bondage.

Free to use her name.

Marron, Marron, Marron.

She closed her eyes and willed away the laughter that was bubbling up her throat. She hadn't thought she would be here. She had dreamt of it, of course, but she had never been able to _picture_ what it would feel like, being free from him, and content with herself once again.

And best still, the prince did not love her. The horrid love spell she had been forced to create had failed utterly, from no lack of skill on her part. It had been all the prince. All of which she had was because of-

"Trunks," she gasped, startled from her gazing by his presence. She looked up to his hidden face, the shadows of the vines causing sight to be skewed. He shifted a little, the early light flashing over his features, so she was positive it was him.

She wondered what had happened between him and Pan, after scuttling out after her former master, she left them with tears and words to mend. In the better light, she began to suspect that perhaps nothing was resolved at all. Clasped in the prince's hand was a set of reigns which led to a dark horse. Saddled for quite a journey.

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

"Don't leave her," she said quietly, imploring him. "I know what she said, but she _does _love you."

"I know," he replied. "She assured me of as much. Yet still, she would rather ignore it and let it fade. It would be better if she did not return my feelings," he confessed sadly.

"Don't say that," she argued.

"She wants me to go, and I agree. I can't stay here. Not when everything will remind me of her. It will drive me mad. Until I can learn to push aside this like she has… I must go."

"Pan is hurt and confused, prince. I think… I think she will realize her mistake, and-"

"I can not idly wait. But… I know she is hurting. When her mind clears, she may…" he trailed off, casting a longing glance at his castle home before tightening his grip on the horse and looking at her with a determined look.

He reached out his hand, presenting her with a sealed letter.

"Would you give this to her?" he murmured. Marron nodded silently, taking the smooth paper into her hand. The prince smiled at her, tilting his head in a slight bow.

"Lady," he whispered respectfully, causing a small smile from her. Formalities aside, he turned to his horse and swung onto its back as a trained horseman. "Thank you," he said, carefully keeping the horse from trotting away. She knew he was not thanking her for the letter.

Marron nodded her acceptance and stood back.

"Where are you going?" she asked finally. "When will you return?"

"As soon as this can end better," he said with a gesture towards his home again. "Maybe I'll have to wait seven years, for that bad luck to run out. You shouldn't have broken that mirror; look how you curse me now."

"Wha- _I_ did not break it. You did!"

"You made me," he bickered back.

"I most certainly did not."

"Goodbye," he interrupted, kicking his horse to gallop away. She only smiled when he called her name over his shoulder, just so she could hear it.

He was gone out the gates before she was ready. The letter he had entrusted to her felt like a heavy weight that would drown her. As if it held all the secrets to ending what had been started. As if it held the answers to everything. She fingered the edges slightly, gazing towards the east, where the sun would soon rise and start a new day. A day better than the one they just lived through.

A day where there would be no lies, and no love spells. A day where the prince would not have to save his beloved from betrothed and murderers. A day when farm girls would not have to break their own hearts doing what was right. A day where she could say her name freely and not be consumed by the guilt that had followed her for so long.

A day, perhaps, not so wretched.

--

There is still _one_ more chapter to come. A conclusion of sorts. Thanks for all of your wonderful support so far. You all have been very motivational to me, not just in fanfic writing.

-Angel Eevee


	31. Fortune's End

**A/N: **See chapter one for disclaimer.

**IMPORTANT: **There are a couple of references in this chapter to previous events that were insignificant at the time, so you've probably forgotten them. Each are found in chapters ten and fifteen respectively. However, if you don't want to re-read those chapters, here are the minimal basics of what you might want to remember:

["What are you talking-" Pan began, a surprised and impatient tone taking on her voice for all of her friend's vague telling. The red head swooped down, and leaned towards Pan, her lips resting at her ears and she whispered something, too quiet for Trunks to pick up. She pulled back, and Pan's face was blank with surprise. ]

[Whatever was in her hand was brought towards her face, head tilted down, eyes half-lidded, as she spoke softly to it. He raised an eyebrow, leaning to the side from where he sat to get a better view of what she was doing. She seemed satisfied with whatever she said, for she brought her hand away and held it at arms length, slowly opening her palm. A small petal flew from her hand, caught in a wild breeze and flung away from the pool. Her dark eyes followed it until she would have to squint to see it. Trunks stared at her in curiosity.]

**Last Time: **Trunks was unaffected by the love spell and he discovered that Koslin was behind mostly everything. He and his fiancée rushed to Pan, who was being attacked by Koslin, and stopped him. Pan loves Trunks, Trunks loves Pan, Pan sends Trunks away, Trunks goes. No one is very happy.

**"Fortune's End"**

_Trunks, king-in-training, _

_Greetings and good morning, as it is morning here at home. I know because the sun is glaring horribly into my eyes as I try to write this. I'm sitting at the top of one of your towers; the ones you said you used to look over your kingdom in. I can see the town from here, but not so much of the countryside. If I squint real hard I can see the river. (that you never swam in! I'll forgive you, I suppose.) _

_It's mostly quiet, at least at this time in the morning. I suppose your father is up and about (he seems to rise very early). I'm to meet with him a bit after breakfast… yesterday there was a huge crisis over the taxation of yeast-risen products. I do not lie. Some farmer was trying to convince us that bread was truly a vegetable, and he had quite the argument laid out. I marvel at your father's ability not to snicker when appropriate. In any case, he's to summon the council and we'll decide whether bread is indeed classified as a vegetable._

_I'm going to go with 'no', in case you wondered. Stop laughing._

_Even now, after all of these years, it still feels odd to be a part of the king's council. I think it's still odd to many of its members as well. (Because heaven forbid a woman join their chattering group. Honestly.) I think your father likes me, though. He says I'm too hard to please, but I think this is meant to be a compliment. _

_Have I said this before? Sometimes I can't remember what I've already written to you about. Things get so muddled, you know? I like to keep your letter as a reference, when I forget your laughter, your temper or the silly pouts you used to flaunt. _

_Not that your letter actually has laughs and pouts, but somehow your cursive reminds me of you. Simple letters forming words. You told me to try and forget you, but I suppose I failed miserably if I'm writing you a letter, don't you think? _

_You have been gone some time now, Trunks… truthfully, I expected you back before now. On one of her visits, Marron told me you wanted to stay away for seven years because you broke a mirror. Bad luck, of course. You've been gone for almost that. You had better hold to your promise, prince._

_I think you'd be surprised to see me. I've gotten quite used to being a lady, I should warn you. Well… maybe not as much a _lady_ as the others. More like your mother I suppose. _

_Ah! Did I tell you, just last week I was so fed up with this one ribbon that I- _

_Oh, drat. There's the bell for breakfast. I spent too much time up here. It's all you're fault, you know. _

_Your father wants to see me soon; I should really close off this letter. I'll write again soon, don't fret prince. _

_Hoping you return soon… yours forever… Pan. _

Pan reread the letter quickly, a finger in her mouth trying to wash a bit of spilled ink off. When she was sure the words had dried, she carefully folded the parchment and tied it with a piece of string. In elegant script she wrote the prince's name on the front and slipped off her window perch.

She had taken to climbing the flights of stairs in the early mornings up to the high tower. It was very peaceful there, and always allowed her time to fully wake up and to think things through. It also was a perfect time to write her letters to Trunks.

She had avoided it at first, also ignoring the letter he had left for her. It had been months before she had even opened it. The King had not been long in finding her, and he was quite adamant he wanted her to stay around. He said there was something he very much liked about her way of thinking, and Pan was all too happy to oblige him.

She had won her father his farm back and shrugged off her engagement with Keipher, so her parents had been glad enough to allow her to stay at the castle as a more permanent resident. Of course, the fact the prince was not there did help their decision.

Trunks had left the very night she had told him to. Pan had often thought about that night, but had come to the conclusion that even if she could, she would not go back and change anything.

She did love Trunks, it was true. But she also stood by her decision that the love was a passing love. It had seemed it would end like that after all.

Of course it hadn't.

Months passed into years, and though Trunks remained abroad learning the ways to rule a country, as all princes did, he never faded from her mind or heart. She had thought that she would meet some dashing lord or even a fumbling servant that would catch her interest. And indeed she had. But with each and every one, she would find herself comparing them to Trunks.

To the prince's laugh, his smile, his wit, his arguments, his selfishness, his ego, the dimples on his cheeks, the curve of his chin, the way his voice wavered when he spoke softly…

She compared them to every aspect of Trunks and found them all short coming. It wasn't that she wanted someone that was like the prince, she realized one day in complete surprise; it was that she wanted the prince himself. Every man she met did not suit her because they were not the same as Trunks.

She still loved him.

It had hurt to the point where she wanted to be sick the day she discovered this. She had been so prepared to never think of Trunks again. Or to at least let him slowly slip from her heart, but slip he did not.

Pan shook her head, pushing open the door at the bottom of the tower, and sighed. She needed her head clear, after all, to vote on the vegetablity of bread. She hid a smile as she walked towards her room in the castle, letter in hand.

They had wisely given her a different room then the one she had stayed in on that fateful night. Not wanting to live forever in a room she was almost murdered in, they had given her one in a completely different wing, though away from the other council members, whom enjoyed looking her up and down in a less than appropriate manner.

Her room was smaller than her first, but had a balcony with stairs leading to one of the gardens. Nostalgic for her country life, the Queen had thoughtfully given her that suite, so no matter the time, Pan could find refuge in the shading trees and gentle pools.

Upon reaching her room, Pan left the door open, intent on simply dropping her letter off then hurrying to breakfast. If one didn't attend breakfast it was assumed you wanted it in bed, as she learned the hard way, when a parade of servants entered her room while she was in the midst of dressing.

Pan walked to her desk, pulled open one of the large bottom drawers and dropped the letter easily inside, making sure the attaching string was tight. She moved to shut the drawer but a voice in the doorway caught her attention.

"Milady," the young voice called, looking rather terrified to be so near her rooms. Pan straightened and nodded at him.

"I know, I'm on my way," she replied. The boy looked confused for a moment, but began to step away. He paused, and came back to the doorway, terror still present.

"Milady, begging your pardon, but you already know of his highness return?"

This caused Pan to stop haltingly in her tracks. Her mind tried to logically think if either Vegeta or Bulma had been away, but truly she knew of whom he spoke.

"Trunks is back?" she whispered, her stomach churning at the thought of breakfast at all. The young page nodded sympathetically at her distress but made his leave. Swallowing her emotions she stiffly walked from her room.

She should have been expecting him. Hadn't she just written so in her letters? It seemed Marron was not jesting when she said he would stay away for seven years. Not that she truly believed in superstition… though the storms had been accurate, as had her fortune, and that stupid flower petal…

Shaking her head in attempt to calm her now rattled nerves, Pan walked swiftly down the corridors towards the main hall. She distractedly straightened her dress and hair, while running over the things she could possibly say to the prince. The last time she had seen him, she had told him she couldn't love him and sent him away. This did not bode well for a happy reunion, to her.

The main entrance approached far too quickly for her liking. The stairs even quicker. She was about to convince herself that, yes, she needed to descend them, when the voices downstairs caught her attention. Ducking behind a pillar she cast her eyes down, and with a gasp realized that the prince had already entered and been announced.

There was Trunks, standing taller than before, absently hugging his mother. Pan could not even imagine going to greet him, now that he was here. She didn't much like lurking about in shadows, but there was simply no way to go up to him…

Not with their last conversation so vivid in her mind, years later. Not when she had said their love would die, and all she wanted to do was run down the stairs, throw her arms around him, and give him the kiss he had always asked for.

Closing her eyes, she edged away from the pillar and away from the entrance. She knew she did not have the courage or will to walk down those stairs, feeling his heavy eyes upon her.

No. Not yet.

She was marching back down the hallway before anyone could tell her different. She would not be able to face Trunks after such a long parting. She could not bare his accusing gaze. Pan walked away, unaware that the gaze had spotted her anyhow.

* * *

Trunks kept his arms wrapped around his Mother, his eyes slowly watching Pan sneak away. She was too far off to see what sort of expression she held, so he did not know what her feelings to his return were. 

She had not ventured downstairs; instead choosing to lurk in the shadows. She could have been afraid to intrude, but when was Pan ever afraid? Trunks thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps she was angry he had come home. But after seven years she had no need to be angry.

And just because she had denied him that day, did not mean their friendship was lost. Trunks had given his predicament with Pan much thought. He had even told the tale to the King he was training under. The King had laughed forcibly, and in the end ordered him to win Pan back by any means.

But Trunks had no intention of winning Pan back. He did not have any plans to slowly woo her into loving him, or to flaunt about until she returned his feelings once again. He would not now, nor ever.

Pan had made her decision before, while still in love. While she loved Trunks, she had decided that she would not be with him. So Trunks would not go against that request now.

In no possible way did he think he would ever stop loving Pan. Even the passing glimpse of her upstairs made him remember all he had felt for her. He doubted it would ever go away or fade. But he did have a confidence that there _could_ be someone else. He was young still, and not so undeniably attached just to Pan.

His father, here the prince cast a quick glance to the stoic king, trying hard to read the glimmer in his eye before it was hidden, would never be able to find someone else. Trunks knew that he was too attached to his mother by now, but it was not so for him with Pan.

He could find someone else that made him happy, he was sure. Maybe not someone who made him laugh as much as Pan did, or think as hard, or someone's whose looks always felt that they were made for him alone.

But someone.

In the traditional fashion of his father, Vegeta folded his arms and glared at him before speaking. But even though his words, his posture and expressions were all the same, Trunks knew something had changed in him from before the invisible curse.

He had noticed it briefly at his return seven years before, but it shone through even more now. Nothing terribly profound, but a change none the less. And if the way his mother positively glowed by his side was any indication, Trunks knew it was for the better.

He had the briefest moment to wonder what Pan and Marron had been able to accomplish between the two of them. Unintentionally, they turned the entire castle inside out.

"I should warn you," Trunks' father began, causing Trunks to leave his thoughts behind. "I will send you away, if you send her."

Trunks was surprised he didn't even have to think to know what his father was referring to, though he did raise an eyebrow for good measure. It seemed Pan had snuck herself into more than just his own heart.

"Only she keeps my council on their toes and their minds from wandering. And she's far too clever for her own good, really." He said this with an odd fondness, and beside him Bulma was trying to stifle a rather large grin.

Trunks smiled a bit, and gave a brief nod to show he understood his father.

His parents turned to walk to the dinning hall, where no doubt breakfast would be served. Trunks took a step to follow them but faltered. He did not want to wait. This would be met now. While he still had the pressing advantage.

He had just returned home, and had the right to greet everyone in the castle. If he waited, Pan would have the opportunity to say hello in passing, and then he had no reason to seek her out. But now, he had every reason. And all she had to know was he came to say hello to her.

Mind steeled, he turned in the opposite direction before faltering once again. Trunks stared at the stair case for a moment before the light touch of his mother shook him from his glance.

"It's the second left room in the west corridor," she whispered to him, as if all knowing. She grinned at him before leaving him alone at the bottom of the carpeted stairs.

Trunks, taking a breath, left behind his parents, his packages strewn over the hall where servants quickly tried to sort and organize them, and began the ascent to find Pan's room.

He marveled at how quickly it seemed to be found, not knowing Pan had thought the same thing not so long before. He knocked on the door before he could force himself to think over his decision. It had become more than just seeing Pan and saying hello. More than even confronting her about what was said seven years ago.

It had become a need. A need to see her again and just to _know_ what was changed since those first few days. He needed to know if he still loved her. His heart would not allow him to remain ignorant.

But there was no answer to his knock.

Unfazed, he tried again, then, with still no reply, slowly creaked the wooden door open. Standing in the doorway it was easy to see the room was empty. He did not call out, but instead took a few steps inside. No one objected.

Fully convinced that Pan was not in her rooms, he walked in, looking around. It was one of the smaller suites he noted, but every inch of the room had been made her own. He could scarcely see any of the impersonal, cold castle shinning through. The colours were ones he had not seen in the castle; rich golds and deep greens scattered the curtains and the bedcovers, which had not been made that morning, but strewn halfway off the bed. Numerous pillows were piled around the bed in a semi-circle, as if she had slept with them as protection.

He slid his fingers on the wooden furniture, such a make he didn't recall, and wondered if Pan had brought them in or had them especially crafted for herself. He was glad that Pan had made the room so much her home. For even through the finery of fabric and wood, he could still feel the farmhouse in the walls and air. Like a fresh breeze whispering over something very hot and stale…

And there _was_ a breeze, he realized, as his hair shifted in front of his eyes. He turned to the window, and discovered that what had once been a simple balcony had been extended. A few steps forward showed that the balcony stairs led down to a private garden. Such a view had not always been included with this room, he was sure of.

He walked to the doors, carefully fitted with glass, and opened them fully. The garden was small, granted, but it was well tended. The flowers were well in bloom, the trees sprinkled in green, and even a quiet pool by the base of the wooden stairs…

Trunks started, staring at the set of stairs by a wide tree. His blue eyes followed the stairs upwards until they reached a wooden platform among the branches. Not unlike the house in a tree Pan had taken him to so long ago. And Pan…

Sitting among the shifting branches he could make out the figure of her. Legs crossed in front of her, long hair tied up for the heat, and a dress simple enough she could have climbed the tree without fear.

His body for a moment did not seem to want to obey him. His feet remained stuck to the floor, and his hand perched on the door handle. By Pan's stillness, he did not think she knew he was there. He did not want to draw attention to himself, but he could not seem to take the step out there. One step, then another, was all he needed. Down the stairs, around the pool, and up the wooden steps. And there would be Pan.

But as he stood indecisively, the morning wind rustled into the room and fluttered some paper on the nearby desk.

Trunks closed the door quickly, absent-mindedly walking over to pick up the fallen pages. He had no intention of reading what was written, until his name caught his eye.

_Trunks_

It was a letter, wrapped in string, obviously from Pan to him. Had she planned on sending him a letter, after all the years of…

Trunks swallowed dryly and leaned forward. The bottom drawer of the desk was open, where no doubt the letter had fallen from. The drawer was filled.

Filled with letters, some aged, some folded, some tied. All addressed to him. He reached his hand inside and felt along the pile of letters. There were so many.

Trunks dug his hand to the bottom, watching as the letters reached halfway to his elbow. Letter upon letter, obviously written throughout the years, and never sent. Kept hidden here when he could have used Pan's kind words, or even argument ones, more than anything.

Seven years of silence from her had been horrible. He had only assumed…

Enough. Glaring at the pile of unsent letters, Trunks stood up and stalked to the balcony doors. He hurried down the stairs, ducking through bushes to get to Pan's tree. Without thought he scaled up the tree steps until he reached the top – and Pan.

She was looking at him wearily, an odd expression on her face, a mixture of joy and nervousness combined. She did not look all that different, even after seven years. Her face had perhaps sharpened a bit as she fully entered womanhood, but her eyes hid the same troublesome youth, and her mouth still held back a smile.

She was staring at him, her eyes roaming his face. He wondered how much he had changed for her, but if she disagreed with time's handling of him, she did not say so in words or expression. Nodding, he crawled up the last bit of stairs and lifted himself onto the tree's platform.

He knelt down and their knees touched as he faced her.

"Hello, Pan," he whispered, a smile forming despite himself. "Are you hiding from me?"

"No," she said, the workings of her own smile tugging at her lips. It was the first word he had heard her say in seven years, so he was quite proud when his breath neither hitched nor stopped.

"You didn't come down and say hello though, so I wasn't sure if…" he trailed, not really having a sentence in mind, but hoping it would prompt her to speak. He had the absurd feeling he was speaking to a child.

"I'm sorry," she answered. "I'm sorry."

"Well, it was merely my welcome, there's no need to apologize." He had the impression she was not apologizing for running from him, but made no move to point that out.

"You've changed, Pan, only a bit I think, in appearances. You're still Pan in there, I can tell. As such, I'm quite confident that you've been a terror on my home, if my mother's letters are anything to go by…"

Pan was smiling into her lap, and he reached his hands out to grasp hers. Calm eyes met his, and she waited expectantly for what he was going to say, an odd bit of hope tainting her gaze.

"Why did you never write to me, Pan? Rather… why didn't you send all that you wrote to me? I would have been thankful, let me tell you; the ladies in the eastern kingdoms are more dull than those here. I think they spent the entire seven years trying to throw themselves at me.

"Which, you know, wasn't entirely unpleasant, but not really appreciated when all I really wanted was you." He looked away from her gaze for a moment, then took a deep breath. Tell her everything, his mind screamed, ask her for everything. But he had promised himself…

"I am sorry Pan, but I do still love you. I know you wanted an end, so I'll just have to love you quietly, and there should be no-"

"You still love me," she interrupted, as if her mind had clung to that one sentence and her ears had heard nothing since. "Even after…"

"Well, yes-"

She interrupted him again, but he did not have the heart to be angry, as it was not her words that cut him off but her lips. A wide smile had spread over her pale face before she raised on her knees and fell forward.

Her hands were pulling at his hair, which he would forgive, as the feel of her waist around his hands felt so entirely perfect. Her kiss was somewhat intoxicating after so many years, and a little wet he realized, surprised, as his cheeks began to feel damp.

When she pulled back, tears falling from her eyes, he knew why.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't think it would last, I really didn't. But then it did, and you were gone, and I knew you'd come back different, but now you aren't-"

He interrupted her this time, not with a kiss, but by an embrace. His hold on her was strong and comforting, and she fiercely hugged him back.

"I love you, Trunks. I didn't want to, but I do."

He laughed and pulled her to arms-length. They simply looked at each other for what could have passed forever, but interruptions would not cease to plague the two.

Not from Pan or Trunks this time, but by a simple flower petal, falling from the blossom in the tree. Such a small flower normally would not cause a distraction of attention, but when it landed squarely on the prince's nose, it caused him to go cross eyed looking at it, and her to burst into a small giggle.

Trunks moved to flick the petal off, but she grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Don't. If you catch a petal that falls, you're supposed to make a wish. Don't you know that?"

"Oh… do you know, I think someone did tell me that once."

She slapped him on the shoulder easily.

"That was me," she said, with a voice that said he should have _known_ that, but the quirk of her lips told him she was not actually upset by his forgetfulness.

"Oh, that's right," he murmured. "By your lake. I wouldn't know what to wish for though…" he said, raising his eyes from the petal now in his palm. "What did you wish for?"

She looked away for a moment, biting her lip, then looked back up.

"What I wished for…" she began, sighed, then straightened as if she were going to reveal a grand secret. "I wasn't very content at the time… so, I wished for… a personal happiness. I wished to smile for the rest of my life, to fight, and to love. I wished for arguments, and apologies. I wished for sleeping in until the sun is past noon, fires in winter and garden walks when in the summer. I wished for storms that would bring comfort, and an embrace that would not end. I wished to be whole."

She said this in almost one breath, talking into her lap. He laughed again, shaking his head at her.

"My goodness Pan, there's no way you fit that all on one poor petal." She smiled

sadly at him, and shook his head.

"Don't you see, Trunks?" she asked, "I wished for you."

He wanted to choke from the sincerity with which she said it. He wanted to grin madly for the words. He couldn't bear to look at her; with her entire being held out in front of her, cradled in her hands, an offering only being made once. His mouth felt like he swallowed sand, and all he could reply was one word.

"Why?" he choked out, despairing at the revulsion that came through. Pan seemed unaffected by his tone, and perhaps even a tiny bit amused at his question, but her reply was quite serious. Trunks had seen serious Pan; in fact, Pan was almost always serious to begin with. But never had he seen this Pan, leaning forward ever so slightly, eyebrows drawn and the curve of both a frown and a smile at her lips. She was determined to speak.

"I didn't know I had wished for you at the time. You just ended up being my answer, do you understand?" Her lips were definitely curling towards a smile, but the shyest he had ever seen on her. "She told me, you know. That day she came… before she was killed. She told me my fortune, she whispered it to me, and I didn't understand. I didn't think it could possibly come true. She told me I'd fall in love with you. I couldn't trust it for the longest time, Trunks. And then when I finally did… you had already gone, and I thought your love would go as well…

"But I did wish for you, even if I didn't know it then. And I know it doesn't matter what happens from this point, I will still love you. Always. Even when it nearly kills me to do so. Sometimes I wish I didn't, because I don't think I want to love you… you're so arrogant, and priggish, and… and… princely!

"I thought I could choose to love you. I can't. There is no choice; I simply do."

"Why?" he stumbled again. There did not seem to be a better reply to what Pan was confessing. She was saying exactly what he wanted her to say and more. She was admitting that this would not end, that he would not have to love her endlessly, while his affections were not returned.

They could both have their happy ending after all, except-

"Why?" he repeated. "_Why_ do you love me? Please believe me when I say-"

She silenced him with a light kiss, their lips merely pressed together softly for a moment. She cupped his face dearly, her palm sliding his jaw line and resting on his neck, his warm skin brushing her hand where a thin scar still remained.

"I love you for the same reason you love me," she said quietly, happily finding a safe comfort in the pulse under her fingers. The prince's heart seemed to be steady and unwavering under her light touch, and somehow she knew it always would be.

"And why is that?" his voice asked, softly; a tone she had only heard once before. Her smile reached her eyes, her hands on his shoulder, and her eyes taking in the face she had memorized by heart.

"Because you can _see_ me," she replied. He thought his mouth could not get any dryer, and the odd clenching feeling he got when around Pan was returning. That sensation in his palms, and behind his eyes whenever she revealed something of such magnitude. There the first time she said she loved him. When she said goodbye.

But now she was saying that she loved him still. More so, she was telling him _why_ she loved him at all, and it was simply… perfect.

Which made him quite terror stricken to think of something to say. But his lips formed no words. Pan was looking at him beseechingly, her fingers twisting together, and her teeth worrying her lower lip as he knew she did when panicked.

He cleared his throat, and tried to avoid her eye.

"You realize…" he started, trying not to stutter, "that you made the last seven years of my life almost unbearable with your rejection." A flash of distress crossed her face and she leaned forward to excuse her actions but he stopped her, standing up and folding his arms.

"So you are quite lucky that I've had that long to forgive you."

Trunks was not prepared for the feel of a joy-stricken Pan in his arms. He was not ready for the curve of her waste at his fingers, or the rest of her chin on his chest.

But he was certainly ready to become an expert on it.

And so they embraced each other, carefully and longingly, among the blossoms of an apple tree, quite unaware of anyone around them .

Unaware of the King and Queen arguing over the proper temperature for porridge in the dining hall. Unaware of the guards slowly taking their patrol shifts around the castle gates. Unaware of the bakers long since finished their morning breads, the stable boys with their shovels, and the school boys pulling on girls' curls.

Just as all of them were unaware of their prince, holding his princess, rocking her to the silent song of a new morning.

End

And because FFnet is picky about chapter content - a list of answers, comments, and thank yous can be found here: www. livejournal / users / angel (underscore) eevee / 7953 .html (Obviously without the spaces... ffnet doesn't like posting urls, apparently, heh)


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